


Lanky Brunets with Wicked Jaws

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adaptation, Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alternate Universe, Divorce, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Kuron is Ryou (Voltron), M/M, Mistaken Identity, Movie Reference, Omega Keith (Voltron), Omega Lance (Voltron), Omega Verse, Post-Break Up, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27989244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Keith likes living life on the wild and won't let himself wonder if there might be something more out there for him.  Lance is living in suburban ennui and thinks Keith's life sounds romantic.  Then a change in jacket ownership leads to a case of mistaken identity.  It might take Keith losing his stuff to figure out what's truly important to him, and Lance losing his memory to find out who he truly is.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Ina Leifsdottir/Nadia Rizavi, James Griffin/Lance (Voltron), Keith & Throk (Voltron), Keith/Kuro (Voltron), Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Urgent

**Author's Note:**

> I took the title from a line in a Thin Man movie, but this is an AU based on Desperately Seeking Susan, which is sometimes billed as a screwball comedy. I wondered how some elements of that plot would play out if everybody was carrying around cell phones. Also, it's just a fun story to play around with, the tone stays light even though the movie touches on some pretty serious topics. It does so with a light and forgiving hand. This particular plot gave me a chance to play with doubling, one of my favorite toys from the writer's toolbox. Some of the most iconic places from that movie don't exist anymore, so I improvised when that was the case.
> 
> I love AUs. Like, really, really love them. Five man band shows like Voltron are ideal for AUs because they hinge as much on the relationships between the characters as they do on the overarching plot. It means you can take the characters out of their original franchise and put them in other situations and not lose their core archetypes while at the same time exploring aspects of their personalities that the show might not have been able to dig into. All of the members of the five man band in the trope have some chemistry with each other, they have to or the show's premise doesn't work. So, different situations bring out different sides of them as characters, and give them different opportunities to make different kinds of connections with other characters. Anyway, I started this on a lark, kept going as it became a valuable distraction, and it was fun for me to work on. I hope it's fun for you to read. :)

“Dearest Rolo,” Lance read out loud from the community posting while a salon stylist towel-dried his hair, “I’m sorry about the handcuffs. Please come home. Yours forever, Nyma.”

“You’re still obsessing over those?” Lance’s alpha sister-in-law Nadia leaned over his shoulder to read his phone. Her hair had already been slathered in smoothing treatment, so she was free to walk around with a microfiber towel on her head. “People who use online personals are nuts.”

“It’s not nuts, it’s romantic,” Lance insisted, as the stylist left the damp towel draped over his head while she went to the salon’s supply room. “It’s like a message in a bottle for the digital age.”

“Sure, handcuffs just screams romance,” Nadia replied. “I don’t know why anyone would bother risking their declarations of love to the whims of fate when dating apps are a thing that exists. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be looking at the job boards?”

Lance frowned. James wanted him to get ‘a little job outside the home’ to help cover his shopping expenses and extend James’s own Rolodex through whatever contacts he managed to make. Something stodgy and not too demanding, because Lance had a tendency to forget where the time went whenever he worked for his own parents; but not at James’s own business either. James insisted that it was because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of nepotism, which was ridiculous because Griffin Auto Sales was also a family-owned business and had been since its inception. Lance had a suspicion of the real reason James didn’t want Lance working there, and it left an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

“Make sure to ask if they require overtime when you call around,” Nadia advised. “You want to be sure they’ll let you come home in time to make dinner.”

“Right,” Lance agreed. He’d known cooking and taking care of household chores would be expected of him when he’d accepted James’s proposal at their community college graduation ceremony.

He just hadn’t realized it would turn out to be so damn boring.

“Are you ready for some lowlights?”

Lance’s hairstylist had come back to her station with foil and bottles of dye and developer. Only, she wasn’t really Lance’s stylist, she was Nadia’s. Lance usually only ever let Rachel touch his hair.

“I thought I was just getting a blowout?” Lance hedged.

“Oh come on, let me treat you,” Nadia insisted. “It’s your birthday!”

It wasn’t actually his birthday anymore. His twenty-second birthday had fallen in the middle of the week this year, so James had decided that the Friday afterward would be a more convenient day to have a big party at their house. That hadn’t stopped Lance’s family from inviting themselves over on a weekday to celebrate anyway, much to James’s chagrin. Lance smiled thinking about it.

“I promise you, your husband will love these lowlights,” the stylist said. “They’ll make your hair look thicker!”

Lance’s smile turned brittle at the corners, but he allowed her to foil his hair and put him under a dryer, where he lost himself again in Missed Connections while Nadia had her smoothing treatment rinsed out and a sealing serum applied. Then he spotted a pair of familiar internet handles and squeed in excitement.

“What?” Nadia leaned back in her salon chair. She was the most gossip-loving alpha Lance had ever met. He was usually content to indulge her relatively harmless vice to the extent of his abilities, partly because she shared a first name with his niece and some of that warm feeling carried over, but also because she paid attention to him.

Today was proving no different in that regard. “Hot for Red,” he read out loud, “Greeley Square Park tomorrow at noon, I’ll be there whatever it takes, love Kuro.”

“You know these people?” Nadia asked.

“No, not really,” Lance said. “I’ve just been watching their love story in Missed Connections, that’s all. They’ve posted in seven different city forums so far.”

“Sounds like they’ve been missing a lot of connections, then,” Nadia snarked, but Lance didn’t think so.

He didn’t know what they had that allowed them to be apart and then come back together as often and inevitably as they did, but he couldn’t help admitting in his secret heart of hearts that he envied that connection.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith pressed his naked body against the window, pulled the drapes over his naughty bits and took a selfie. The room at the Tropicana had a kickass view of the Atlantic and a lot of rich reds in the decor. Keith looked fucking awesome in red, which was just one of the reasons for his nickname. He took a few more shots and scrolled through them, smirking. These should get some hits on his instagram. He strode over to the bed and stood over his latest conquest.

Al Throk was a good looking motherfucker, and he knew it, too. Splayed out with the red velveteen bedspread barely covering his manhood, the muscular alpha was currently vulnerable in sleep. Keith impulsively snapped a picture. That one wasn’t for his followers, it was just for his own personal enjoyment. A rap on the door distracted him from his ogling.

“Room service.”

Oh good. Lunch for breakfast was here.

“Coming.”

Keith shrugged into a bathrobe and answered the door. On the other side was a young, horny beta wafting out fruity pheromones. Keith allowed his robe to fall open as he let the kid in and told him where to leave the food tray. By the time the bellhop left he’d forgotten about asking for any money for a tip, distracted by his eyeful of naked omega. Triumphant, Keith grabbed a half-empty bottle of champagne left over from the night before and used it to wash down his pizza while checking social media.

Out of habit, he also checked Missed Connections. Ryou knew damn well how to reach him by messenger, email or any of a half dozen other online accounts Keith kept open, but at some point in their back and forth he’d decided to answer stubbornness for stubbornness and now only reached out for him through the personals. Damn if it wasn’t working, because Keith checked it daily. But he wasn’t hooked. Definitely not. Exhibit A for his argument that he wasn’t hooked was passed out drunk in bed across the room.

Then he found the post. _Hot for Red_...

“Greeley Square Park, huh?” Keith grinned. “Who’s on the hook now?” Ryou knew Keith liked that neighborhood, and he knew why. He should be able to get a bus up there in plenty of time to make the meet, if he could just lay hands on some funds.

Stealthily he rifled through Throk’s clothes for his wallet. The dude was carrying around a huge wad of large bills. It was tempting to teach him a lesson about the prudence of using plastic, but Keith resisted and only lifted half of the cash. He wanted to leave the alpha embarrassed, not desperate and gunning for him. He put the wallet back in Throk’s jacket pocket and felt something heavy in there through the lining.

A little searching around and Keith found the hidden pocket. He brought the heavy items out into the light and discovered that they were dangle earrings. Real gold by the glimmer and heft. The beadwork was probably glass, but the inset stones might be semiprecious. The largest stones were a red so deep that light seemed to disappear into the center of the cabochon.

“My favorite color,” Keith said with a grin.

He packed them up in his leather hatbox, and when he got dressed he decided to take the bathrobe with him. Then he decided to take a few more towels and a flask of Wild Turkey from the minibar. It was a tight squeeze, but his trusty hatbox finally latched closed. He shrugged into his cropped jacket, olive green with a brighter green lion eating a golden sun on the back, and a red lining. He put on his felt hat and pulled the brim low to shade his eyes. Then he picked up his hatbox and bugged out.

He made it down the hall and had the elevator in his sights when the hatbox latch popped open again, spilling towels onto the floor. “Damn it.” Keith knelt and saw a nice pair of Italian loafers walk past him as he scooped items back into the hatbox. He hoped if there was a bellhop trailing the guy that they didn’t recognize their own towels. Whoever it was walked alone and didn’t acknowledge him, so Keith picked up his hatbox in his arms and hustled to the elevator. The door was closing. He reached out one arm and stopped it just in time.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
_♬ You don’t have to prove to me you’re beautiful to strangers ♬_

The Doobie Brothers played on the living room sound system as Lance made another circuit of the room carrying a plate full of appetizers. Guests he could call friendly acquaintances at most nodded and smiled at him as he made the rounds. Happy birthday to him. As he set the plate back down on the sideboard, Nadia reached around him to snatch a burrata crostini off the plate.

“Save me from myself,” Nadia said. “I’ve had more of these than I can count.”

“Only if you’ll save me too,” Lance replied, picking up a mini spring roll to nosh on.

“Your wish is my command.” Nadia linked arms with him. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the kitchen for a drink and a gander.”

They walked a gauntlet of party people conveying vague congratulations which told Lance that a lot of them didn’t actually know what this party was for before making it into the kitchen, where Nadia helped herself to the fridge to pour them each a glass of Chardonnay. “Okay,” she said once they were both holding glasses of liquid party gold. “Who is that?”

Lance followed where she was pointing. Ay Dios, did she suspect too? Was this a come to Jesus moment? “Um. That’s James’s administrative assistant, Sparks.” 

Dick “Sparks” Sparke (though his driver’s license still said Newley), but everybody called him Sparks at his insistence. Lance supposed if his own first name was Dick, he might insist as well; or better yet, get his first name legally changed so it didn’t read ‘Dick’ on all his identification cards. Seriously, it wasn’t even short for Richard. It was just ‘Dick’ on the guy’s birth certificate, like his parents had looked at him on the day of his birth and said, ‘Welp he’s got one. Guess that’s what we’ll call him.’

Past the breakfast bar into the dining room, Sparks stood close to James listening intently to whatever he was saying. They’d been high school sweethearts before their post-secondary education choices had separated them. Sparks had chosen a finishing school in Pennsylvania, and then he’d chosen someone else for a husband. By the time he’d divorced and returned to his hometown in New Jersey, James had already married Lance, but he’d offered his old paramour a job to help him get back on his feet. Or so they both claimed as the motivation. Lance saw a superficial resemblance between himself and the other omega, at least in terms of appearance. In attitude, Sparks seemed more like a barracuda, where Lance was a nurse shark.

“Not him.” Nadia’s lip curled. “Everybody knows Sparks. No, I meant the blonde.”

Everybody knows? Lance struggled to focus on where Nadia was pointing, gratified that at least she didn’t seem to like the guy much either, and she’d gone to high school with him too. The blonde, the blonde... It could only be Doctor Leifsdottir, DMD. “That’s Ina. She’s our dentist.”

“A dentist,” Nadia rumbled. “I’d like to let her get a closer look at my mouth.”

Lance silently wished her good luck with that, as Ina Leifsdottir was one of the most inscrutable people he’d ever met in his life. Even the beta’s scent was difficult to pick up on. It kind of smelled like toothpaste but it always wisped away before he could be sure it wasn’t just one of the samples she always had in her pockets ready to hand out. He watched, sipping oaky white wine while Nadia strutted over there to introduce herself. Lance received another moment of personal gratification when Nadia thrust an arm right between James and Sparks to shake hands with Ina. Then James’s watch beeped and he clapped for attention.

“Everyone, it’s time!” James rushed back toward the living room. “Somebody turn on the TV, my spot’s up in less then five minutes!”

Lance pushed through the crowd and shoved his way under James’s right arm as Sparks aimed the remote at the seventy inch and changed the channel to a local affiliate. A news anchor appeared mid-spiel.

_“...search continues for the Ptolemaic jewelry stolen from the Metropolitan Museum of Art two days ago. More on that after these messages from our sponsors.”_

The ad block began, and there was James’s smiling face in the parking lot of Griffin Auto Sales. _“Hi! I’m James Griffin for Griffin Auto Sales, serving the Hudson County area for over sixty years...”_

Lance leaned against his husband’s well-muscled frame as the James on the screen cheesed his way through a speech about how his customers were loyal because his family could be trusted to sell them a quality used car. Lance turned his nose to James’s unmarked neck, searching for the comforting scent of wintergreen. Instead he smelled agrimony. He looked up and caught the source of the agrimony scent looking back at him. Sparks broke eye contact first.

Lance sighed and let his gaze wander toward the window looking out onto the dark street. Somewhere out there, Red must be making his way toward Kuro, anticipation growing with the passing of every hour. Romance wasn’t completely dead yet, and those two were the living proof.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Showers are first come first served,” said the bored clerk as he handed over the room key.

“S’fine,” Keith said tiredly as he took the key and handed over the cash. He’d rested his head in this flop before, due to its proximity to Port Authority. It was also close to a luggage storage place where he could drop his hatbox later. With the latch so wonky he couldn’t risk carrying it all over town or he’d be walking mugger bait. He’d have to get a binder clip or a snap fastener or something to fix it as soon as he got the chance, but that was for later. His energy was fading and he still had another errand he needed to run before he could think about freshening up. 

If the showers were all occupied, he could do his washing up at the sink in the room’s half bath. Ryou probably wouldn’t care if he showed up smelling a little ripe anyway. Keith managed to work up a grin as he trudged down the tiled hall. Ryou would probably get off on it if he smelled a little ripe. That guy was a freak with a capital F.

_He’s my kind of freak._

Keith shoved that little voice down hard.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
_“You’ve got types?”_ Myrna Loy leaned across a cocktail table on the twenty inch television screen in the kitchen, a vision of Old Hollywood glamour in black and white.

_“Only you, darling.”_ William Powell sat across from her, handsome and dapper. _“Lanky brunettes with wicked jaws.”_

Lance sighed and forked up another bite of birthday cake straight off the serving plate. What must it be like to hear someone say ‘only you’ and know that he meant it? He pondered that around a bite of vanilla cake with buttercream frosting. James had asked the bakery’s cake decorators to put the old Saab logo on top. It was pretty clever how they’d traced the red griffin on a field of blue in icing, but honestly Lance didn’t love his car as much as James seemed to think he should. It was a very nice car, but he didn’t actually love it like cake.

“What are you doing up so late?” James flipped on the kitchen light as he crossed to the refrigerator, then did a double take. “Lance! Why didn’t you slice off a piece and put it on a separate plate before you started eating?”

“It’s my birthday cake,” Lance said defensively (and gummily, from the frosting).

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” James sighed as he took a beer out of the fridge. “It was a great party tonight, wasn’t it? I think they really loved the commercial.”

Lance fed himself more birthday cake. “Yeah, it was something.”

“You gonna pick up the blind spot sensors for me tomorrow?” James wanted to install a blind spot detection system on his BMW. Who even knew why. He was one of the most careful drivers Lance had ever ridden with, making even Luis look like a daredevil by comparison.

“Of course.” Lance had actually forgotten about that errand, but now that he remembered, he realized he had a justifiable excuse to be in the city on the same day that Red and Kuro were supposed to be there.

“Good.” James ruffled Lance’s hair as he walked past with his beer. “Don’t let those guys talk you into an extended warranty, those things are worthless.”

“Okay.”

James flipped the kitchen light back off as he walked out, leaving Lance once more sitting alone in the dark watching an old movie and gorging himself on birthday cake. Only, now he felt a little tingle of excitement beginning to flare. If he could get to Greeley Square Park before noon, maybe he’d finally get to see Red and Kuro. He’d have faces to put to the names whenever he read about their hot affair online.

Maybe watching them would even help him figure out how to address the problem of why his own life felt increasingly empty.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith smiled nostalgically as he walked under the blinkered lights over the canopied entrance to the Oriande. Old Zandra was trying to replace the neon with LEDs but only as they burned out, so the lights no longer matched up the way they’d originally been designed to do. Maybe someday she’d catch up with herself, but by then there might be an even newer lighting technology on the scene. It was the last show of the night, Keith could already hear the three piece house band playing lounge music for whoever had shown up to get drunk and see some magic. More of the former than the latter, unless Coran had added something more exciting than small animals to his magic act since Keith had worked here. He used to be the cigarette boy before he got fired for smoking too many of the wares.

He stepped through beaded curtains and there found Romelle holding up a wall, the very picture of gorgeous indolence. She had the cigarette tray strapped on over her cocktail dress. She straightened up off the wall when she saw Keith.

“Keith!” She smiled in delight. “Where have you been? We thought you’d been kidnapped by aliens or something.” Her Australian accent sounded a little rounder than the last time he’d seen her, but she still dropped her R’s, which was probably not going to change much from living in New Yawk.

“Or something,” Keith replied with a smile of his own. It was pleasing to have someone be happy to see him coming. Pleasing, and increasingly rare. “Matt still work here?”

“See for yourself.” Romelle nodded toward the interior.

Keith recognized the invitation to get in without the cover charge and walked on through. The interior of the bar was smoky with the haze of dozens of patrons partaking of the cigarettes and cigars Zandra sold on top of the booze. Keith was pretty sure she stayed in business mostly on account of being one of the few bars in town with a cigarette-friendly exemption, due to the tobacco products she sold making up over ten percent of her total revenue. In light of that, it probably hadn’t been a good idea for him to treat his cigarette box like a tip jar when he’d worked here. The more you know.

Up on stage stood Coran in his royal blue tailcoat and top hat, and Matt in a retro purple jumpsuit with his hair stuffed under a feathered wig. It looked like Coran was about to try his version of the classic linking rings trick. He tossed the rings at Matt one at the time to demonstrate to the audience that they were completely separate (although they weren’t all separate and one of them wasn’t even complete). Each ring hit Matt square in the face, because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Why wasn’t he wearing his glasses? He could perform this trick upside down with one hand tied behind his back if he just had his glasses on. Matt hunched over and hustled around the stage picking up rings mostly by feel, earning himself a few wolf whistles at the sight of his cute tush outlined in purple polyester.

Keith decided to wait for Matt in the dressing room. He slipped up the hidden stairs to the mezzanine and into the dressing room, and sat down in front of the lighted mirror. The long vanity table was littered with vials and compacts of makeup and various cleansers and skin treatments, both Matt’s and Romelle’s. There was also a tester of perfume, a gourmand fragrance Romelle used to enhance her unusually sweet beta scent to get better tips. Keith helped himself to a spritz and whiled away the minutes using the other products to clean the travel grit off his face and neck, until finally Matt stumbled in and started smacking his hands around on the vanity looking for his glasses. Keith did him a solid, lifting them off the wig head Matt had left them on and passing them over.

“Oh, thanks!” Matt put on his round glasses and blinked. “Keith? Hey man, where you been?”

“Here, there.” Keith briefly accepted the other omega’s back-slapping hug. Matt’s hyacinth scent could be a little overwhelming in close quarters. “Everywhere.”

“Anybody I know?” Matt smiled as he let Keith go to start changing out of his costume and into his street clothes. First thing to come off was that goofy wig.

“Nah.” There was negative one thousandth of a chance that Matt had ever met Throk. “Just another alpha. You know how it is.”

Usually this was the part where Matt would deliver a lecture on how Keith kept wasting his precious time on alphas he didn’t even like all that much, but this time he growled. “Boy do I ever. Ever since Sniv took over as floor manager, he’s been after me to sex up my part of the act. Like, it’s a magic show. I lay down under a sheet for part of the show while Coran metaphorically turns me into a symbol for intercourse by passing a hoop over my body. How much sexier does it really need to be?”

“Yikes.” Sniv was Zandra’s grandson, part-time bartender, emcee and presumed future owner of Oriande. Seems he’d started taking more of an active interest in the business. Keith was glad his tenure hadn’t lasted long enough to see it. Sniv was a douche.

“So now I can’t wear my glasses on stage.” Matt was still complaining. “I’m so nearsighted I’m almost legally blind, without my glasses I keep messing up the tricks and now Coran’s getting upset, but he hasn’t been able to convince Sniv to let me wear my glasses either.”

“Contacts?” Keith asked.

“Astigmatism,” Matt replied, “and before you ask, no I can’t justify the expense of laser surgery.”

Keith hadn’t planned on asking. He figured if Matt could afford elective surgery without going to his parents then he wouldn’t still be working for Oriande.

“So what brings you back here?” Matt asked as he swiped arnica balm over a bruise one of the rings had left on his cheek. “Cause if you’re looking for a job you can have mine.”

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna be in town,” Keith said, “but if I stay past tomorrow, can I crash at your place?”

Matt turned from the mirror to pin Keith with a look. “My sister lives with me now.”

“And we get along great,” Keith said.

Matt sat down to yank on his sneakers. “Yeah, you get along so great you took her on an overnight trip to Atlantic City, and who was it my parents lost their shit at over the phone? Oh wait, let me think for a sec– it was me. My voice mail was nothing but them yelling for days.”

They’d cleaned house together in the casinos. Keith would have invited Pidge to do it again if not for the circumstances of her being seventeen and her parents still holding a grudge about the last time. Sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. “I just came from Atlantic City, so I’m not in any hurry to turn around and go back.”

“Now that I believe.” Matt sighed as he hoisted his tote bag over his shoulder. “If you still need a place to stay tomorrow, then come and meet me here. I’m working both shows unless I finally win the big one.” Matt played the lottery regularly using a mathematical sequence that actually won him enough money to keep him from ever being obliged to give into socioeconomic pressure to surrender his status as a single omega living on his own. He’d yet to win a jackpot, but between him and his sister that was probably just a matter of time.

“Thanks, man.” Keith offered Matt a fist to bump. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance took the Lincoln Tunnel with the Saab’s top up and the air conditioner cranked. James had given him the little 900 Turbo convertible for his own personal use, which did double duty as advertisement because the Griffin Auto Sales decal was affixed to the rear fender not too far from the red griffin on the manufacturer’s emblem. Griffin Auto Sales started out as a Saab dealership, before transitioning to a used car platform specializing in certified preowned luxury imports during the early teensies. James’s father had still been running the place back then, but already preparing to retire and hand the business over to his son, like his father had done before him. Lance’s car had been one of the last loyalty trade-ins brought back to the lot. The loyal customer had gotten a fair offer on a late model Mercedes-Benz out of the deal, and James had gotten a way to show off both his business and his new spouse around town.

Taking the Lincoln Tunnel was always a magical transition to Lance. First he drove through the Helix, a winding landscape of billboards, traffic signs, underpasses and toll plazas. The EZ Pass transponder mounted to his windshield ensured he never had to do more than slow down at tollbooths, as long as the traffic was moving. Then he entered the tunnel, a curving underwater corridor of asphalt lit by rows of LEDs. Finally he emerged back into daylight and he was suddenly in the city. Tall buildings surrounded him like castle spires, making him feel like he was a small part of something big and wonderful.

Somewhere up ahead, something small and wonderful was about to happen. He wouldn’t be a part of it, but if he was lucky he’d get to be a witness.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith strolled past the statue of Horace Greeley while nibbling Lotte corn snacks off his fingertips. He was going hatless today. He had on his fingerless gloves and his alchemical lion jacket, for luck and extra pockets. If he added the hat on top of those he might wilt in the summer sun. He’d accessorized with sunglasses and one of the earrings he’d liberated from Throk. He’d paired that earring with one of his carnelian studs for an asymmetrical look, and tossed his hair into a low ponytail.

He liked walking this neighborhood, imagining it as it might have been in decades prior. His mother had grown up not too far from there, in an apartment on East 32nd Street. She’d worked at the bookstore on West 32nd Street in high school and college. She’d married Keith’s father in a Midtown Presbyterian church. Then they’d moved to Queens and had Keith, and not long after that Krolia Choi Kogane had disappeared. Jeff Kogane had disappeared too, at least mentally, though it had taken another ten years before his body followed his mind and spirit.

Oh, his dad had loved him. Keith knew that. He just always had a sneaking suspicion he’d loved his mother more. He’d never stopped looking for her. Even if he had to use up his weekly days off and yearly vacation time following leads to the back of beyond while his coworkers at Rescue Company Number 4 looked after Keith in his absence. That was the romantic dream right? Someone who’d never give up no matter what.

Jeff had spent so much of his free time running down clues to find out what happened to his missing wife that he’d neglected to make plans for what might happen to his son if he died on the job. In spite of the best efforts of Jeff’s friends, Keith had wound up in the system and it had pretty much swallowed him whole. Then arrived that magic day when Keith had turned eighteen. He’d aged out of the system and inherited his dad’s one-time death benefit which had been held in reserve for him, all in one fell swoop. It was not a lottery jackpot amount of money, but it was enough to let him drop out of high school and embark upon the vagabond lifestyle he’d been living ever since. He’d learned many other means of acquiring ready cash since then.

And in those years, Keith had decided that he didn’t want kids. He didn’t want to take the chance that somebody he made might grow up confused and alone. He’d learned to distrust any guy who promised him forever with no kids, because he’d figured out real quick that usually meant they were going to try and talk him into kids later. Or worse: trick him into kids. One of his dumber boyfriends had tried the ol’ ‘hole in the condom’ trick. It was laughably stupid, because male omegas only ever got pregnant on heats that synced up with a rut, but Keith had taken the implied threat seriously and promptly dumped the guy.

One of the things he liked about Ryou – really liked, if he was being honest – was that he never tried to tie Keith down. Never bitched when Keith wanted to take a hike, just gave him some lovin’ for the road. Always glad to see him, no matter how long they’d been apart or what kind of shape Keith showed up in. Some days, Keith thought there really was a chance that they could go on like this forever. But here was another thing about Ryou, something attractive, but also kind of worrying: Ryou was really fucking smart. Was he smart enough to play the long game in the game of love and win, though?

Some rando buying a tabloid out of a vending rack suddenly blocked Keith’s path on the sidewalk. “Hey sweet thing, let me buy you a paper.” He had the vending door still open, so what he really meant was, ‘let me steal you a paper and maybe cop a feel while you’re bending over.’

“Thanks,” Keith said, as he snatched the paper the guy had already removed out of his hands and skirted around him to continue on his way.

“Aw, come on man.” There was a clanging noise, and “Ow!” as the guy let go of the door and then tried to stop it from closing with his fingers.

Keith flapped open the paper and kept walking. The front page story nearly made him stop in his tracks, but well-honed survival instincts insured that it was only a second’s pause.

_Suspected mafioso falls 33 storeys to his death. Was it suicide, or murder? Witnesses say he checked in with an omega companion. That young man is now being sought as a person of interest in the case._

Inset was a picture of Throk in better days, alongside a picture of first responders loading a body bag into the back of an ambulance.

“Fuck me.”

He’d fucked Throk. That was kind of a problem for Keith at the moment, since he was the person of interest. He ripped the front page off the paper for a more thorough perusal later, dropping the rest in a public trash bin. Then he folded up the front page to join his storage locker key in his jacket pocket. Keith was glad he’d worn the hat when checking into the hotel, they probably wouldn’t have a clear shot of his face on any of the security cams. He kind of wished he’d worn the hat today.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance parked in a garage a couple of blocks over from Greeley Square Park, using the self-serve option so he wouldn’t have to wait for the valet to notice him. James would read him chapter and verse if he scratched the car’s paint job, and besides he was early so he had time to walk over. He strolled through the gates guarded by stone raptors and proceeded through the park, looking around for any romance happening in his vicinity. He walked around the statue of Horace Greeley, and past the public restroom famous for being the nicest in the city, eyeballing tourists and people on their lunch breaks. No sign of any timeless lovers. He decided to sit down at one of the bistro tables near the center, which seemed as good a spot as any to catch a glimpse of devotion that distance could not erase.

There! There was a pretty man looking around keenly for someone. Could that be Red? Oh, and there was another man with a baby strapped to his chest walking right up for a peck on the lips. There was no way that was Kuro. Was it?

“Pardon me.”

Lance turned sideways in his chair to find an alpha smirking down at him from his position leaning against a lamp post. Asian guy; tall, buff and handsome. His smoky cedar scent was subtle, but evident this close and with the breeze cooperating to waft it Lance’s way. What could he possibly need? It probably wasn’t directions. Dressed in New York black, he looked local.

“Yes?”

“Would you have any Grey Poupon?”

“You...” Lance forgot how to use his words for a second. “Did you really just pull out that old hoary chestnut?”

Tall, buff, handsome Asian guy grinned, and Lance suspected he may have just opened himself up for an even worse joke, when something caught the alpha’s eye and his whole expression changed. “Red! Hey, Red!”

Holy shit, it was him! Bad joke buff guy was Kuro! Lance watched in fascination as Kuro nearly ran over a tourist to grab up a laughing young omega man in his arms. They kissed like they could join together into one ephemeral being for an eternity of bliss. What would it be like to kiss somebody that desperately? Then two people carrying armloads of flowers decided that the best place for them to have a conversation was right in front of Lance’s table and he lost sight of the pair of lovers.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith ran his fingers along the fine hairs of Ryou’s undercut while held up easily in muscular arms. Ryou smelled and tasted pleasantly smoky, only part of which was from his pheromones. He’d been drinking mezcal since the last time he’d brushed his teeth. Keith leaned back as the kiss broke to take in sleepy grey eyes over a slow smile. His white tuft of hair in front (which he insisted was natural) smelled like the menthols that one of his bandmates smoked.

“So are you guys on tour again?”

“Not exactly,” Ryou replied. “We just played a festival in Long Island and one of the organizers said he could get us booked at a festival up in Niagara.”

Same difference; he was traveling and this was a pit stop. “How long have you got?”

Ryou checked his watch. “Less than an hour.”

Keith smacked at his well-developed pecs. “What were you thinking we were gonna do in a public park with less than an hour?”

Ryou took his smacking hands and held them against his chest. “I was thinking I’d get to look in your eyes and smell your hair and talk to you for a little while.”

He looked and sounded like he meant it. He even smelled like he meant it. Ryou had a very subtle smell – he had a mixed presentation some people liked to call muddy alpha – but Keith had known him long enough now to pick up on nuances and read his mood. This kind of shit was exactly why Ryou was the sort of trouble Keith just couldn’t talk himself out of, no matter how much his street smarts dictated that he should.

“Buy me a kimchi taco,” Keith demanded.

“You got it.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance ambled about a dozen paces behind the couple, trying to keep them in sight without being noticed himself. He didn’t dare get close enough to overhear their conversation, but sometimes the natural acoustics of the park would throw a snippet his way. He caught “you should come” from Kuro. Maybe he was trying to talk Red into running away with him? Then he caught “got trouble” from Red. The two stopped to lean against the open wrought iron gate where Red polished off his taco and took a newspaper clipping out of his pocket. Kuro read the paper while Red stole the last bite of Kuro’s taco.

“...looking for you?” Kuro’s voice had risen on the end of that sentence.

“...take care of myself!” Red was capable of generating equal volume, it would seem.

Lance barely tasted his own taco now, eyes widening as the two got up in each other’s faces again. It was hard to tell if they were going to kiss or trade blows. Lance’s mother used to tell him that passionate romance should come with a sticker warning, but he’d thought she’d been exaggerating. Then a cargo van with Cosmic Cadets spray painted on the side pulled up right next to the arguing couple and a cute redheaded girl leaned out of the driver’s side window. “...gotta jet,” said Cute Redhead.

“...don’t like leaving...” Kuro had put aside his anger and was once more holding Red in his arms. Whatever Red said in response was muffled by his face tucked into Kuro’s neck. Then Kuro let him go so that he could reach into his pocket and take out his wallet, from which he withdrew a card which he put in Red’s hands. “...my brother, you call if...”

Even at this distance Lance could read Red’s ‘yeah yeah’ response by body language if nothing else. Red put the card in his pocket and dragged Kuro’s head down for another kiss. Behind Kuro, somebody opened the van’s sliding door. Kuro gave Red one more rough kiss and jumped in. Red followed the van to the end of the block, after which the van took off one way and Red the other.

Lance finished his taco as he followed Red at what he hoped was a discreet distance. It helped a lot that the back of Red’s jacket was so easy to spot at a distance. The shiny decal of a green lion swallowing the sun was large enough to encompass most of the back panel. Lance had never seen a garment so distinctive. Nobody else on the street was wearing anything remotely similar.

Red seemed to move in a zone of guaranteed personal space, where other pedestrians instinctively gave him the right of way. There was a line forming for a food truck parked at the curb, a line which threatened to block most of the sidewalk. Red slipped through it like smoke. Lance tried to slip through in his wake and got shoved.

“No busting the line!”

“I wasn’t busting the line!” Even after almost two years of marriage to a local pillar of the community, there were still some things that could provoke Lance’s inner Jersey boy to come on out ready to go. Getting yelled in the face was definitely one of them. “I’m trying to walk, here!”

The yeller, along with several other line holders, realized that they were in the process of committing a major Manhattan faux pas and started rearranging themselves in an L-shaped pattern. Still irritated but no longer blocked, Lance hustled on past them. If he lost Red on account of that puta – but there was Red, not lost. He’d stopped to look in a shop window. Now he was going in.

Lance strolled up, checking out the racks of t-shirts on the street under the awning. It was a secondhand store, with music pouring out of its open door. _♬ Her heart is on the street, tu corazón es suyo ♬_ Displayed in the window which had so drawn Red’s attention that he’d felt compelled to stop was a pair of vinyl boots. Calf-high, they were black on the tongue, white on the vamp, and bright red on the toe box and gusset. As Lance stood there staring they were removed from the window and passed over to Red inside the store.

Lance whistled his way inside and found a display of sweaters to hide behind. It was late July in New York City, so they were super cheap. Red had taken off his solid black high tops, which were starting to show signs of sole separation, and put on the vinyl boots. Now he was stomping up and down the store’s main aisle in them like a runway model.

“Ninety-five bucks?” Stomp, stomp, stomp. “You must think people who shop here don’t ever need to eat.”

“If you wear a hole in that carpet you’re gonna have to buy that too.” The shop girl, a multi-pierced young beta with a magenta mohawk, flipped a page on the magazine she was reading behind the cash register. “I don’t set the prices, man.”

Was it possible that this shop girl was immune to Red’s charisma?

Red stopped mid-stomp and struck a cross-armed pose. “You’ve gotta have some kind of bargaining power or the owner would never let you work a shift without a manager around.”

OMG he pulled the manager card!

The shop girl gave Red an appraising look. “Maybe I do. That jacket looks equivalent in value to the boots.”

“This jacket?” Red ran his hands over the jacket’s shawl lapels, the red of the lining showing there. “It used to belong to a rock star.”

“Oh yeah?” The shop girl came around the counter to get a closer look. “Which one?”

“I don’t know, he had a bandana over his face when he gave it to me at Burning Man.” Red let the shop girl help him out of the jacket. “So it’s an even trade, huh?”

“Sure, I can make that deal happen.”

Lance was leaning so hard on the sweater display that he accidentally sent a bunch of them flopping into a messy pile on the floor. Good thing he’d worked at Target throughout college, he was a sweater-folding pro and had the display back to rights in no time. Red still managed to disappear by the time he looked up again. Lance rushed to the open door and looked out but there was no sign of him anywhere. Without that jacket on, Red blended into the black-clothed crowd.

The jacket! Lance went back into the store, where the shop girl was in the process of writing a price tag to attach to the jacket. He stepped up the counter and read the tag. “A hundred dollars, huh?”

“Yeah.” The shop girl looked up. “Wanna try it on?”

“Yes I do.”

_♬ Light up my life ♬_

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
♪ “So blind I can’t see.” ♪

The microwave dinged; the hamburger meat was done thawing. Lance had that song stuck in his head ever since leaving the secondhand shop and he couldn’t stop singing it. Or thinking about it. If a person was blind, didn’t it follow that they naturally couldn’t see? Maybe the song meant they were metaphorically blind so they didn’t notice what was right in front of them. He bopped over to the kitchen counter with his thawed bowl of ground meat and restarted the cooking show on the kitchen TV.

_“– Excellent! That’ll keep the meat nice and moist.”_

Uh oh. Lance had left the food processor running while he was dancing the meat out of the microwave. Now the holy trinity was diced so fine it was almost slush. Oh well, who was going to notice that in a tiny little meatloaf anyway? They’d be gone in three bites if he used a muffin pan like the show’s host was doing. Lance followed the cooking show instructions and emptied the savory vegetable slush into the bowl on top of the thawed meat.

_“– egg in here and a splash of milk – ”_

Lance cracked the egg and splashed the milk into a smaller mixing bowl, some of it splishing out of the side from the vigor of his whisking.

_“Drop that in the bowl. Excellent!”_

James let himself into the kitchen through the back door while Lance was dropping the egg wash into the bowl. “Hey Lancey.” He squeezed Lance’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. Lance got a whiff of his aftershave; the crisp, fresh scent of Calvin Klein Eternity for men. Lance had put a bottle in his stocking at Christmas. “I won’t be able to stay for dinner, I’ve got to run a car out to a collector in Summit tonight. We got our hands on a 2009 Honda S2000, this guy’s willing to pay top dollar for it but he insists on white glove delivery, which basically means I have to do it.”

Damn it. If Lance had any idea James was going to skip out on dinner he’d have started on something less work intensive than this recipe, and more suited to his own personal tastes besides. James caught a glimpse of his scowl before he could smooth it from his face. “Hey, don’t worry, I’ll get something to eat on the way home, it’s fine Lancey.”

Lance said nothing as he shook bread crumbs into the meatloaf mixture. He had not been even a little bit worried that James was going to miss a meal, he knew better. Why did he go on pretending that he didn’t? Perhaps it was because his own grandparents had been married for over fifty years, his parents over thirty and his oldest brother for almost ten now, and heaven knew they’d all seen their share of hard times. Lance couldn’t shake the feeling that if his marriage failed because he quit then he’d have to live the rest of his life in self-recrimination. Even if staying was becoming demoralizing in its own right.

“So did Mr. Unilu give you any trouble?” James checked his teeth in the mirrored chrome of the refrigerator door. “I swear, those guys must make half their profits off selling warranties they never have to service because of all the fine print.”

“Mr. Unilu?” Lance rummaged in the cupboard for the bags that went with the vacuum sealer. He would just finish prepping the raw meatloaf and freeze it to use another day.

“At the outlet store.” James turned from finger combing his hair to regard Lance with dawning suspicion. “You didn’t go into the city?”

“I went, okay? I just forgot.” Lance rolled up the sleeves of his jacket so he could begin aggressively kneading the egg wash and bread crumbs into the meat without risking those satiny red cuffs. “That happens sometimes you know? Like how you forgot to call me and tell me you were missing dinner as soon as you knew about it.”

“I think I see why you forgot.” James flicked the jacket’s red lapel. “What are you wearing and how much did it cost.”

“It’s a jacket,” Lance said, hunching away from James’s judgmental hands. “It used to belong to a rock star.”

“Tell me you didn’t spend two hundred dollars on that thing.”

Lance thought of his most recent birthday gift from James. It was a giant plush shark that came with an adoption kit from a wildlife conservation society and which he knew damn well didn’t cost anywhere near two hundred dollars even with the donation, so where the hell did James trot out that particular figure from? And while it represented a good deed that Lance approved of, at the end of the day it was still a stuffed animal and Lance was still a grown ass adult. It was supposed to be a birthday present from his husband, not a carnival gift. James was not completely clueless when it came to romance, so Lance had to wonder if he had even been the one to pick it out, or if he’d left the task to his administrative assistant.

“I spent one hundred dollars on the jacket.”

“Well at least there’s that.” James took his car keys off the peg by the back door. They lived within walking distance from the car lot, so he didn’t always choose to drive. Not that he necessarily ever had to anyway since Sparks also had a car. “I have to run.” He paused a moment to look back at Lance standing by the counter and he shook his head. “Rock star.” Then he was gone.

Lance no longer felt like a rock star. He felt foolish, but since he hadn’t lost all of his common sense he carefully washed the raw meat and egg off his hands before taking off the jacket. He could put it in the back of the closet and maybe only take it out every once in a long while. Out of habit he checked the pockets, and that’s when he discovered that Red hadn’t emptied them before trading in his jacket. Lance took out each item and set it down on the dining room table. There was the newspaper article Red had been reading in the park, and the business card which Kuro had given him, but in addition to those was a key to a locker at a Midtown luggage storage facility.

At the very least, Red was bound to want that key back.

  
*~*~*~*~*

“What do you mean you already sold it?”

“It’s what we do here,” the sales associate – Luki was her name – did not quail under Keith’s furious glare. “You had to have realized that when you traded in the jacket for those shoes.” She leaned over the counter to look down. “How are you liking those, by the way?”

“They’re great, that’s not the point.” Keith had actually been hoping to buy the jacket back after he retrieved his hatbox from the storage locker, but that plan was now challenged as well. “I had stuff in my pockets. Now the person who took my jacket has that stuff!”

“Okay.” Luki brought out a notepad. “It was a cash transaction so I don’t have his deets, but if you give me a way to contact you I’ll pass them on when he calls.”

Keith hesitated with the pen in his hands. “You really think he’ll call?”

“Yup. He looked like the type.”

Keith scrawled out his first name and Matt’s phone number. “A goodie two shoes?”

“Nope. A curious cat.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance crammed the vacuum-sealed meatloaf into the freezer alongside a bunch of other meals he’d prepped and abandoned over the past few months. It was starting to get packed in there, he was going to have to rotate some out soon. But tonight he had the evening completely to himself with some intriguing reading material, and if he was going to eat alone then it was going to be whatever he damn well pleased. He made himself a turkey, cream cheese and strawberry jam sandwich and poured himself a glass of Chardonnay. He finished the sandwich and poured himself a second glass of wine as he pored over the newspaper article. A possible murder in Atlantic City? Holy cow.

The male omega person of interest had to be Red, which put his half-heard conversation with Kuro in a whole new context. No wonder Kuro was worried about him. Maybe Lance should call the brother. He picked up the business card, for a place called Silver Movie Palace and Grille in the Theater District. The name on the card was Shirogane Takashi, and he listed his title as ‘Co-owner/Curator/Projectionist.’ What a fascinating hyphenate.

But should he call the fascinating hyphenate? Red hadn’t seemed too keen on having his business broadcast when Lance had watched him interacting with Kuro in the park. Lance had older siblings, and he knew that if someone called them on his behalf then he could just forget about even trying to manage the problem himself, much less privately. What must it be like to have a boyfriend who kept every secret, even the torrid ones? Maybe Lance should try to call the secondhand store. He dug the handwritten receipt out of his wallet and dialed the number.

_“If you’re hearing this recording then you’ve reached the Swap Shop outside of our normal business hours of Monday through Saturday eleven to six. Leave your name and number after the beep and we’ll get back to you.”_

Lance left his name and number and a brief explanation for his call, but this put him in a bit of a quandary. The shop keeper wasn’t likely to get his message until Monday, which meant Red might have to go through all of Sunday without access to whatever was stored in the locker. For all Lance knew, he might have his wallet in there. Guess he didn’t really have any other choice but to call the brother, then. He dialed the number on the business card. The call was picked up almost immediately by a smooth male voice on the other end.

_“Hi, you’ve reached Silver Screen Cinemas, the premiere place in the city to dine on fine cuisine while taking in award winning films in the most comfortable of settings – oh wait, no you haven’t, because the owner refuses to let go of the past!”_

“I’m sorry,” Lance tried to break in, “you see, I was only trying to– ”

_“Listen, I know he’s absurdly sexy, but trust me when I say that you’re biting off more than you can chew with this one.”_

“I think you have me confused– ”

_“I know, I know, and that’s understandable, I could tell you all day and night that he’s a stubborn ass who won’t listen to anybody, but nobody ever listened to that advice when presented with an ass like Shiro’s and his dick’s got mind wiping capabilities, so here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna leave that ass, and if you want it, you can come and get it!”_

Then a deeper male voice in the background said _“Adam!”_ and the call disconnected.

Lance wasn’t sure what the hell that was about, though he was pretty sure he didn’t want any part of it. But if he didn’t get in touch with Kuro’s brother, then how was he supposed to get Red his key back before Monday? He stared at his phone’s home page as if it could give him inspiration, his eyes naturally wandering to the comforting sight of his favorite app, and an idea began to form.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith rolled over on the couch in Matt’s apartment and checked his phone for the time and any messages. It was daytime. Still not late enough in the day to consider hauling himself out of his couch bed and making coffee though. If he was lucky, Matt or Pidge would get up first and do that while he pretended to be asleep. He flicked open the community posting app to check Missed Connections, not really expecting to see anything from Kuro, but it was a habit now. There was something waiting for him, though.

_Hot for Red: meet me in Greeley Square Park, Sunday 5pm, regarding key. From: A Stranger_

“Alright, stranger.” Keith smirked sleepily at his phone’s glowing screen. “Let's see whatcha got.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Who is this fucking stranger?” Ryou sat up on the futon reading Missed Connections while his bandmates lay about the yurt in various states of readiness to face the day. Which for them, would be early afternoon through the early morning of the following day.

“Who’s gonna get us coffee?” Vince moaned from under the covers on the bed.

“I will,” said Larmina, who was not only awake but also dressed. “Slowly I turn... step by step... inch by inch... to get to the door of this yurt. Wait, what was I doing again?”

“You were going to find us some coffee in Niagara Falls,” Daniel piped up from behind the changing curtain.

Larmina turned in an exaggerated pose of mock fury. “Niagara Falls!”

Ryou tuned them out. Those two idiots had been riffing on the old vaudeville routine from the minute they spotted the first road sign. Ryou had more important things on his mind. He took out his cell phone and called Keith. It went straight to voice mail, which was not really unusual. Keith screened most of his calls, but especially when he was involved in one of his capers.

“If you’re in trouble, you know you can call me.” He hesitated. “Or Shiro.”

Ryou left it at that. He knew if he wanted to stay in Keith’s life, he needed to respect his boundaries. But if something had happened to Keith that left him somehow unable to answer his phone and Ryou had done nothing, he’d never forgive himself. The trouble Keith was facing this time was more than just some jerk who didn’t understand the meaning of the words, ‘no I won’t marry you or bear your children.’ Somebody was already dead. Ryou decided that he’d better take his own advice.

He called his brother.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
_“I’m not upset, just concerned.”_

The character speaking the dialogue was projected onto the silver lenticular screen below. Shiro kept an eye out for the first cue mark to change projectors. It should be coming up any second now. His cell phone rang, playing a guitar riff performed by the person the ringtone represented: Ryou. Shiro ignored it, but it rang again, and now Ryou’s guitar riff was competing with an electric guitar playing on the movie’s soundtrack. Ryou was perfectly capable of calling over and over again until Shiro picked up out of sheer frustration.

Shiro decided to pick up before he reached that level of mad. “I’m trying to get ready to switch reels here, Ryou.”

_“You know people are mostly buying tickets for Hunk’s food, right?”_

Ordinarily Shiro wouldn’t have a problem with that assessment, would even pragmatically agree with it, but today it made him feel prickly. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to give them a good old-fashioned movie-going experience.”

Damn it, he’d missed the first cue. He turned on the motor for the second projector and hurried to switch over the sound and shutters. His matinée attendees were going to notice a blip and some of them might hassle Shay trying to get their money back.

_“Red was with some guy in Atlantic City who fell out of a window.”_

The black frames at the end of the reel appeared on the screen below, resulting in a few shouts from the audience, which Shiro ignored. Then the second reel lit up the screen, quieting the hecklers as he quickly took the first reel of film off its projector and put it into the rewinder. “Why are you calling me about this?”

_“This is serious, Shiro. The dead guy was some kind of career criminal and now the cops are looking for Red, and that’s not all. Some stranger is using the wording from my Missed Connections ads to try to get to him, and now I can’t get Red on the phone.”_

“Cheese and rice.” Shiro started loading the third reel. “What do you want me to do about it?”

_“Go to Greeley Square Park at five this afternoon, that’s when and where this stranger wants to meet up with Red.”_

“You know how I feel about getting in fights nowadays.” After the way Adam had stormed out of the apartment Shiro was kind of in the mood for one, but he’d regret it later and he knew that.

_“You don’t have to fight anybody, you don’t even have to involve yourself directly, just watch from behind a tree or something.”_ Ryou sighed. _“I just want to make sure Red’s okay. I’m worried he might be in over his head this time.”_

“I don’t even really know what Red looks like.”

_“He’s got the prettiest deep blue eyes, you could get lost in them Shiro. He’s got the smoothest skin and softest hair to touch, the sexiest legs, and his scent is intoxicating, like night-blooming flowers, like... like Hunk’s four spice cookies!”_

Yeah, that was a totally useful description for spotting some omega guy he’d never seen before from a distance. “Why don’t you try giving me the version where I could pick him out of a lineup.”

_“Five foot ten, slim build, dark wavy hair, he wears a lot of red and black, oh! He’s got this jacket with a trippy lion symbol on the back, he wears it all the time. You really can’t miss the jacket, it stands out in a crowd.”_

“I’ll do it,” Shiro said, “but you’re gonna owe me one.” He was going to have to cajole Rax into covering the evening show, which involved overtime pay and Rax just generally being a pill. Even worse, he was probably going to miss out on Hunk’s family meal for the crew.

_“Thanks big bro.”_

“I’m only five minutes older than you.”

_“Every minute shows.”_

Then Ryou hung up before Shiro could offer a good comeback.


	2. Beautiful Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance thinks he's going to meet Red (Keith) but instead he meets Shiro. Keith has a bit of bad luck but then gets a helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who is reading, and to ashkazora for the comment. :)

Lance checked himself over in the bedroom mirror one last time. James had dragged himself in early that morning with an excuse about how he’d had to overnight in Newark due to some unlikely weather-related road closure. Even he seemed to realize how stupid the excuses were starting to sound now, and he’d quickly retreated into the bathroom to wash the Sparks off before practically leaping into another suit and heading right out the door again, despite the fact that the lot didn’t open on Sundays until noon. Whatever. Lance had better things to do with his Sunday this time than worry about what might be going on behind his back.

He was actually going to meet Red. Talk to him, face to face. It was an intimidating moment. Lance had tried to dress to match the attitude of the jacket, which he felt he needed to wear to ensure that Red could spot him in a crowd. He wasn’t sure if he’d pulled it off. The most downtown things he owned anymore were t-shirts, jeans and sneakers, so that’s what he’d put on.

At least the lowlights kind of worked with this low key outfit. Lance fluffed his hair. He’d let it dry naturally to encourage the waves to come out, and together with the lowlights adding depth, his hair did make him look a little– he wouldn’t go so far as to say more wild, but definitely less tame. He aimed finger guns at himself in the mirror.

“Razzle dazzle time, stranger.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Meatless meat.”

The drawback about taking a cab was that Keith would often find himself the captive audience to whatever topic the cabbie wanted to talk about.

“That’s like an oxymoron, right? How can you call it meat if it’s meatless?”

Keith grunted in neither agreement nor dissent as he put on some SPF10 lip balm he’d lifted from Matt’s bathroom. Cabbies might be chatty, but at relatively short distances they were still faster than the subway and cheaper than Uber.

“It’s like if they took all the alcohol out of beer.”

“That’s actually a thing,” Keith spoke up.

“Now that’s just wrong.” The cab pulled up alongside the wrought iron gate around Greeley Square Park. “That’ll be fifteen.”

Keith handed over two dimes as he jumped out of the cab. “Keep the change.”

“Hey, that’s fifteen dollars, not cents! Come back here you little punk!”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sendak held his newspaper up at an angle so that he could examine the omega pacing in front of the statue as unobtrusively as possible. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the little cutpurse when he’d paid a visit to Throk (the rapacious fool) but that jacket did draw the eye. The young man had wavy dark hair, which tracked with Sendak’s memory of passing him in the hallway at the Tropicana. What really clinched it for him, though, was that he was here, in Greeley Square Park, at five o’clock. Before he’d sent Throk to his great reward he’d gotten out of him that the guttersnipe called himself Red and smelled like some specimen of raintree, and that they’d met through the online personals. Sendak had already been on three fruitless searches following up on other personal ads in which the poster had called themselves some variation of Red, but this was the first one who looked truly promising.

He set down his newspaper and rose to intercept the omega mid-pace. “Hi there, Red.”

The omega looked up at him out of panicked blue eyes, sending out a sweet and spicy puff of fragrance that Sendak was surprised to realize he recognized from his many smuggling trips in the tropics. The young man smelled like Queen of the Night – also known to some as Cuban Raintree. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he said.

Sendak held his ground. “I’m quite sure that I have not.” If Red was meeting a stranger, how would he know that Sendak was not, in fact, that stranger? “How would you like to take this conversation somewhere more private?”

“I don’t think so.” Then the omega darted in the only direction available to him, which was towards the north entrance to the park.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith entered the park through one of the south entrances near the statue of Horace Greeley and immediately spotted his own jacket, jogging in the opposite direction.

“Hey!”

The stranger did not stop, but another guy did. Big bruiser with a cold smile, a mercenary if Keith ever saw one, and he’d seen plenty. The mercenary spared only a moment to glance Keith over before showing him the soles of his nice Italian loafers as he hurried off after the stranger.

“Hey stranger, I’m over here!”

Keith was attracting attention from other park visitors and was just about past caring. His stuff was jogging away from him! Neither the stranger nor the mercenary turned around, so Keith decided he was going to have to sprint to catch up, and that was when one of the boys in blue grabbed his arm.

“I’m not loitering,” Keith insisted, “I’m trying to meet someone here.”

“We can talk about that in the car.” The cop was accompanied by the cabbie, who apparently didn’t have anything better to do with his day than get Keith arrested.

“I can give this guy the money, but I have to get my stuff back from that guy first!” Keith pointed behind him as the cop hustled him past the gate.

“We’ll be discussing all of that later,” the cop insisted. “Mr. Varkon here wants to press charges for petit larceny.”

“You bet I do!” said the cabbie. “Nobody gets away with skipping out on my fares!”

“Skip on this, asshole!” Keith lifted his middle finger to Varkon as he was stuffed into the back of the squad car parked at the curb.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance didn’t know why he’d forgotten that he was not the only person out looking for Red. It stood to reason that if the cops wanted to find him, then the reason that the cops wanted to find him was on the lookout for him too. The very dangerous reason. Lance glanced over his shoulder and saw that the alpha built like a truck was still coming. Coño. He needed to find a safe place to call for help.

Lance had left his wallet with all his money, ID, credit cards, even his wedding ring for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, locked in the car’s glove box, which was parked in the same 24 hour garage he’d used before. He’d prepaid with a credit card and left his keys with the valet this time, so if he didn’t show up after the time frame he’d prepaid for, the garage would automatically charge him for another block of time, which he’d figured would give him plenty of leeway to gab with Red should he be so fortunate as to get to hang out with the guy for longer than it took to give him back his stuff. Now he was thinking it would give him leeway to try and ditch Tall Dark and Scary because he did not want this guy to have his license plate number. If he kept going north on Broadway it would lead him closer to the garage than he wanted to lead the huge alpha, who seemed to be capable of making intuitive leaps with scary precision. Lance did have his iPhone on him. If he could just get inside a store and lock himself in an omega restroom stall, he could call someone for help.

A traffic light changed at an intersection directly adjacent to his position, so Lance veered left and hit the crosswalk with a crowd of tourists. Unfortunately, so did Mister Tall Dark and Scary. Lance took out his phone and rapid-dialed the most recent number in his phone’s call log. Nadia picked up after one ring. What was that sound on her end? Was that a dental drill?

_“Lansh?”_

“I’m being followed,” Lance said, right before the phone was snatched right out of his hand.

“You and me need to have a talk,” said Mister Tall Dark and Scary as he easily held the phone out of Lance’s reach.

“No we don’t.” This was going farther than Lance had anticipated, and it was all happening really fast. “Give me back my phone!”

“Stop blocking the crosswalk!” yelled another pedestrian. Cars at the light started honking their horns. The light was about to change and they were still in the way. Then Lance heard someone yell, “Red!” just as something bopped him in the side of the head, and down he went like Alice through the rabbit hole.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Talking Rax into covering his shift in the projector’s booth had taken Shiro longer than he’d counted on. There was not enough time left to make the meet using the subway, so he made off with the Vespa Grande Deluxe like a thief in the night. Technically, Shiro was the registered owner and should be allowed to take the moped out whenever he wanted. Realistically, it was used as one of the grille’s delivery vehicles and Hunk was the one who paid for the insurance on it. Hopefully Shiro would have it back before they needed it.

Because the moped topped out at thirty miles per hour (and that was with only one rider) Shiro was obliged to stay either on the shoulder or in the bike lane, which slowed him down a little more than he wanted, but there was nothing he could do about that. It wasn’t like he had a flying car at his disposal. But as he rolled to a stop on the minor leg of an angled intersection, he saw a fracas start up on the crosswalk ahead and to the right of him. Big muscular dude in a black suit with a red shirt, must have been six foot five and two hundred pounds at the very least, facing off against a welterweight under six foot who was probably omega by the look of– hey, wasn’t that the jacket Ryou had mentioned? Holy shit, it was!

“Red!” Shiro yelled, then he took his life and his license in his hands as he disobeyed traffic laws by cutting across a stopped lane of traffic to get into a bike lane facing the wrong way. He might wish his brother had chosen a more monogamous-minded partner, but the fact that Ryou cared about this omega made the choice to risk his own neck a simple one. He parked the Vespa on the sidewalk and rushed onto the crosswalk amid a cacophony of honking horns. The heavyweight in the red shirt was gone. Red was on the ground, with an old lady carrying a giant purse hovering over him.

“I was trying to hit the big one with my purse,” said the old lady, “but my depth perception has been off ever since I got the cataracts in my left eye.”

Shiro noticed an iPhone with a cracked screen in her hands. “Do you want to call 911?”

The old lady startled at that suggestion. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea, dear.” Then off she scuttled as fast as her skinny legs could carry her while the car horns turned into one multiphonic blast from all directions.

Shiro looked down at the young man laid out on the crosswalk. He did look to be about five foot ten, most of it leg. Brown skin, soft to the touch when Shiro laid his fingers across his steady pulse. Dark wavy hair, and he did smell lovely; deep, sweet, warm and spicy, almost like cloves. People said it was inadvisable to move unconscious accident victims because of the risk of accidentally causing further damage, but they were risking considerable more damage staying in that crosswalk. If Red didn’t wake up within the next couple of seconds, Shiro was going to have to take his chances

Then Red opened his eyes. They were dark blue like the ocean, and deep enough to drown in.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Red?”

Oh, what a headache. The world was so bright. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had such a headache before. Like, he really literally wasn’t sure. Had he?

“Red, are you okay?”

He blinked to clear his vision. There was a man standing over him. Ay por Dios, what a beautiful man. Strong, symmetrical features surrounded by a halo of white hair, and eyes of silver. Or at least, they seemed silver. Everything was very bright.

“Red, can you move?”

“Do you mean me?” Then he heard the honking. It was very loud and way too close. “Yes! Please let’s move.”

Firm hands hoisted him up under his armpits and continued to support him off the street and over to a lamp post which had a sky blue scooter parked next to it. He hugged the lamp post like it was his best friend while he waited for the world to stop moving around so much. ‘What am I doing here’ was what he intended to say, but what actually came out was, “What am I?”

“You’re Red, my brother’s boyfriend,” said the angel who had lugged him off the street. “Who was that guy giving you a hard time? Do you know him?”

“What guy?” And what kind of a given name was Red? Was that really his name?

Grey-eyed angel – for they were grey, not silver – frowned in concern. “The guy who was hassling you on the crosswalk right before I got there.”

Red blinked again. “I don’t remember.”

Now Pretty Grey Eyes was leaning in close, checking Red’s pupils. “That old lady gave you a pretty good oops upside your head, didn’t she?”

“There was an old lady too?” This seemed like an awful lot of details that had just escaped his notice somehow.

“What do you remember?”

“Um.” Red thought about it, wincing as his head continued to throb intermittently. “I remember how to talk, and I think I understand what you mean when you say a man and an old lady beat me up, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why they’d want to, or what my mother was thinking of when she decided to name me Red.” Now Grey Eyes was starting to look as confused as Red felt. “Are you sure that’s really my name?”

“Actually, I think it’s a nickname,” said Grey Eyes, sounding amused, “but that’s the only name my brother ever used whenever he’d tell me stories about you. My brother Ryou, that’s your boyfriend. You remember him, right? Only, I think you might have called him Kuro. He would have told you about me, too. I’m Shiro.”

A whooshing echo filled Red’s ears and he thought for a second that he was about to remember something, but no. It was just traffic rushing by. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know where I came from or how I got here.”

“How about this,” said Shiro, “let’s check your pockets. Maybe there’s something that will jog your memory.”

That was a really good idea. Red turned out his jeans pockets and found some dryer lint and a quarter. Then he checked the jacket pockets and hit pay dirt. Out came a crumpled newspaper article, a business card, and a key.

“That’s my business card,” said Shiro, as if that settled something in his mind, “and that is a locker key for a luggage storage facility not too far from here. I can take you over there and we can see if there’s anything in the locker that you remember.”

“That sounds like as good of an idea as any,” Red said, because none of the objects he’d just taken out of his pockets had cleared up his confusion, even though the business card had obviously cleared up some of Shiro’s.

“Alright.” Shiro took a helmet off the pizza rack on the back of the scooter parked on the sidewalk and handed it to Red, who wondered why he understood what the pizza rack was for, as somehow he just knew that many people would have assumed the flat basket was for suitcases. Maybe he’d been a delivery driver in his unremembered life. “Think you can fit that over your head, or does it feel too sore?”

Red gingerly pulled the padded helmet, which had a decal that said ‘Silver Movie Palace & Grille’ on it, over his head. “It’s a little heavy, but it’s not too tight.”

“That’s a good sign, means you probably only have a grade two concussion.” Shiro threw one leg over the scooter’s dual seat and started the motor. He was wearing some sort of compression glove on his right hand. “If we get pulled over I’ll take the rap for riding without the helmet. Climb on.”

Red climbed on from the left to avoid accidentally kicking the exhaust, while wondering how he knew he should do that. He briefly debated holding onto the pizza rack but decided instead to hold onto Shiro’s waist, as he’d already gripped the man’s muscled shoulder while climbing aboard and Shiro didn’t seem to mind. This close and with the summer sun bringing out nature’s temperature regulator in the form of sweat, Red could smell him; a dry woody cypress scent as refreshing as lemonade on the back porch. How did he know what lemonade on the back porch was like? Less mysterious to Red’s senses was that Shiro was an alpha, and an unmated one at that. Red held on tight as Shiro aimed the scooter into busy delivery and messenger traffic running mostly parallel to equally busy car traffic.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Shiro’s first thought when he realized that Red had memory loss was that he should see a doctor, but then he remembered that the police might be looking for Red. Any ER or Urgent Care they walked into would be required to report his presence to the authorities. In addition to that, Red’s assailant might start calling hospitals looking for him too. Then it became apparent that Red was able to form new memories (in fact, he seemed rather fast on his feet) and Shiro began to feel certain that whatever got knocked loose in his pretty head might be salvageable without the aid of modern medicine.

He really shouldn’t be thinking of his brother’s boyfriend as pretty. Even though Ryou had told him once that Red thought of monogamy as cute but impractical. Ryou and Red had an open relationship which Ryou claimed to be fine with. He still lived with an ex-girlfriend with no animosity between them, so maybe he was. Shiro had his doubts that Ryou would remain so magnanimous about it if his own brother took up with Red, though. Just because they were identical twins didn’t mean they shared everything in their lives.

Speaking of sharing things. Since it would be out of his sight for a few minutes and there was no need to rush this time, Shiro took a few extra seconds to take the cable lock out of his sling bag and secure the Vespa to a street tree outside of the luggage storage facility. Hunk was a forgiving soul by nature, but if Shiro let the Vespa get stolen when he could have prevented it, he’d have to face disappointed brown eyes from not just Hunk, but Shay too, and Rax would do his loud judgey thing. Best to just avoid that whole scene if possible.

They walked in and spoke briefly to a bored counter clerk standing in front of shelves full of tagged short-term storage, who pointed them down a short hallway. There, tiered cage lockers guarded longer term storage with shrouded padlocks. Red’s key fit one holding what appeared to be a large leather hatbox. As soon as he lugged it down, it fell open, spilling towels onto the floor. Red knelt to sort through the contents of the box, holding up towels and clothes and refolding them more neatly than they’d been stashed to begin with. He must have left that hotel room in a hell of a hurry.

One of the towels unraveled to release a glass flask of Wild Turkey, which Shiro rescued before it could be dashed to the tiles. “Is any of this stuff ringing any bells?”

Red held up an ornate dangle earring in front of his face. “I could swear I’ve seen this before, but I don’t remember where.”

Well that was... that was something? “Try closing your eyes.”

Red closed his really quite extraordinary eyes, Ryou hadn’t been exaggerating for once in his life. “Okay.”

Shiro gazed into his fine boned face intently. “What do you see?”

Red smiled with his eyes still closed. “I see a lion! That’s a clue, right?”

“I guess you could say so.” It was a clue that Red’s memory was probably just a little scrambled, not irretrievable beyond all hope. “You have a lion on the back of your jacket.”

“I do?” Red then tried to look over his own shoulder instead of just taking off the jacket, but at least he showed no signs of dizziness or stiffness in the neck and shoulders.

“I think you’re gonna be okay,” Shiro said. “Listen, I’ve got to get the moped back to the Grille before the dinner rush starts.” He hesitated. Ryou had warned him that Red was capricious. “I really think you ought to come with me. At least until more of your memory comes back, then you can dip out if you want to.”

“Is that something I would do?” Red asked with a scrunched up look on his face. “Dip out?”

Shiro nodded. “It’s something I was told you might do.”

“Oh.” This seemed to bum Red out for reasons Shiro could not fathom. “Well, I appreciate your offer. I accept.” He held up a pack of Marlboro Reds. “Do I smoke these?”

“Looks that way,” Shiro said, “but you shouldn’t.”

“Then I won’t while I’m at your place,” Red said, putting the pack back in the hatbox. “I hope I’ll remember that I said that later when I’m jonesing for a cigarette.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
There was no smoking allowed in the holding cells at the precinct station.

“Not even a vape?” Keith complained.

“No smoking anywhere smoking is prohibited,” said Zethrid, the guard currently on duty. “That means anything it is possible to smoke is not allowed in here.”

“Guess you better arrest yourself then,” said one of the working girls sharing Keith’s holding cell, “because you’re smoking right now.”

The female alpha, who actually was attractive (though Keith’s appraisal was strictly clinical) smiled wryly. “Nice try Ezor.”

Another female guard entered the room and approached the cell. It was Acxa, a hardass not to be messed with (which he could respect, honestly). “You.” She pointed at Keith. “You’re outta here. Varkon’s dropping the charges.”

Keith tried not to let his victory cheer show too much on his face. He’d quickly learned that Acxa, unlike Zethrid, did not take kindly to being teased by the jailbirds. She escorted him through required paperwork and then out of the station where a familiar face was waiting for him on the front steps.

“Hi Wally.” Keith swallowed. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’m glad I was able to get this matter straightened out for you.”

Wally Kreutz was one those old friends who’d tried to adopt Keith after his father died. The general practice attorney had been unsuccessful in that endeavor – being a single beta male had not looked good on his application – but he had been successful at saving Keith’s inheritance and holding it in abeyance for him. He’d also been helping keep Keith’s record clean. Keith liked to hope he didn’t make it too difficult for the lawyer, but on the odd occasions when he got into trouble that he couldn’t get out of by himself, it usually required Wally to venture out of his home borough of Queens. No doubt Wally had paid Keith’s cab fare. Keith wondered what he’d said to Varkon and the prosecutor to convince them that the case wasn’t worth pursuing any further.

“Can I get you a bite to eat?” Wally was good at keeping his facial expressions nonjudgmental. Probably a necessary skill in his profession. “Do you need me to drop you anywhere?”

Well, since he’d offered, Keith probably ought to at least try to get his hatbox back from the luggage storage facility.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
They strapped the hatbox to the pizza rack with bungee cords which Shiro produced from a bag slung across his fit body, and they were off again. Red held on tight to Shiro’s trim waist, his powerful obliques rolling under his hands with every lean. The city rose around them like a citadel. Red was sure he’d never felt more alive, even though he couldn’t rightly remember if he had or not. Eventually they pulled up in front of an old movie theater on the bottom floor of a brick mid-rise building. _Silver Movie Palace_ was spelled out in glowing cursive over a marquee announcing a showing of _Friday the 13th Part VIII_.

“Jason takes a boat to Manhattan!” Red said cheerfully as they slowed down to coast around a moving truck partially blocking the service alley.

Shiro laughed. “Where did you hear that alternative title?”

“I don’t know,” Red said, but suddenly he did know that someone else had said that to him once, and it had been meant as a joke. He just couldn’t remember any other details of that conversation. He couldn’t even remember if he’d ever actually seen the movie himself. “We should watch it.”

Shiro glanced over his shoulder at Red as he walked the Vespa to a stop near the building’s delivery entrance. “Sure, I could show it to you sometime, though I’ll be perfectly honest, that’s a memory you might feel ambivalent about once it’s restored.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of a young woman in a grey polo shirt bearing the logo for the Silver Movie Palace & Grille and carrying a large thermal delivery bag. “Thank goodness you’re back!” she said. “Hunk’s spicy wings are a hot seller tonight! Please tell me you gassed up the moped on the way over.”

“Sorry Shay.” Shiro looked sheepish as he helped get Red and his stuff off the moped. “You can take the gas money out of the theater’s petty cash.”

“I will, but only because I have to.” Scolding from such an adorable beta was hardly scolding at all to Red’s way of thinking. “Hunk saved you some of tonight’s family meal. Oh, thank you!”

Red helped Shay bungee the thermal bag to the basket with muscle memory he’d only suspected that he possessed. “You’re welcome.”

“There’s a science to doing that as fast as you just did,” Shiro said as Shay rode off on her delivery. “How did you know how to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Red said as he followed Shiro to a door that led into an industrial kitchen.

A big, muscular guy in a head wrap and short-sleeved chef coat looked up from flipping patties on the flat top to grin at Shiro. “Hey man, I saved you some chicken curry.” He looked past Shiro at Red standing in his protective shadow. “Well, hi there.”

“Thanks Hunk.” Shiro put a hand on Red’s shoulder. “This is Red.”

Hunk looked curious and friendly. “Ryou’s Red?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said, “and he’s having some memory problems from a bonk on the head, so I’m taking him up to my place until he feels less out of it.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you.” Hunk held out his hand. “Any friend of the Shirogane brothers is a friend of mine.”

“Thanks, it’s nice to meet you too.”

As he traded greetings with Hunk, Red couldn’t help but notice that he smelled pleasantly like pastry dough. It could have been on account of all the cooking smells, but Red didn’t think so. The kitchen they were standing in was set up for short order cooking, not baking, which implied that the appealing scent and its relative strength to their highly aromatic surroundings must be Hunk’s scent. Red pegged him as probably a beta prime, factoring in a margin of error from all the competing scents in the vicinity.

“Hey listen.” Hunk was talking to Shiro again, with a serious look on his face. “Before you go up there, I saw Adam headed that way, and he wasn’t alone. You might want to take the back door.”

“Great.” Shiro grimaced. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Hunk nodded and clapped Shiro’s shoulder. “Any time.”

Shiro took a hot bag from Hunk’s hands, then guided Red back out into the alley and headed for the fire escape.

“Who’s Adam?” Red asked as Shiro pulled down the ladder with one hand.

“My very recently ex-boyfriend. You better go up first, I’ll spot you.” Shiro stood aside to let Red climb ahead of him. “I don’t know if he wants to argue some more or just to get his stuff, but if Hunk says he wasn’t alone, then he probably brought Roy along to act as a sentry. Keep going, I’m on the top floor.”

Red circled the first landing and kept climbing. “Who’s Roy?”

“A friend of Adam’s who’s been waiting in the wings for his chance to be something more.”

Red paused and looked down at Shiro, who had also stopped, right bicep flexed as he held the railing with the gloved hand. “Is Roy going to try to start a fight?”

“He won’t if he knows what’s good for him,” Shiro said grimly, and they climbed on up to the fifth landing.

Shiro took a key out of his pocket that fit the cam lock securing his window from the outside, and he let them into the apartment, which from what Red could see was either a junior one or an alcove studio layout. They climbed into the bedroom area, which was screened off from the rest of the living space by two semi-sheer wood-framed panels sliding in a track suspended from the ceiling. One of the panels was partially opened. The alcove was furnished with a bookcase half-filled with books, a crate half-filled with vinyl records, and a bare mattress on the floor. There was a square of slightly less faded wood flooring where something else might have been resting for some time.

“What the hell,” Shiro murmured, opening the sliding panels all the way to stalk into the main living area.

Red followed him into a larger room which was in a similar state of half-bareness. Two well-dressed men with their backs turned were supervising two other men as they carried off a three piece dining set and an adjustable bed frame through the front door.

“You really should take the shoji screens,” said the blond one to the brunet. “They’re not junk, they’re beautiful pieces.”

“Roy for the last time, I can’t take those because they belonged to Shiro’s parents,” replied the brunet.

“But he owes you– ”

“What the actual hell, Adam!” Shiro thundered, causing both men to jump and turn around.

“I’m only taking what I own,” said the brunet with steely look in his hazel eyes. He was very well put together in grey separates, his brown hair a fashionable tousle probably achieved with good product. A line echoed through Red’s head, ‘lanky brunettes with wicked jaws,’ and he thought it apropos even as he wondered where it had come from.

“You’re taking the table and chairs?” Shiro paced over to the kitchenette. “And all the pots and pans!”

“I bought those,” Adam said. “You want me to stay out of all of your life choices, fine, but you can’t expect me to walk away from everything I own, especially when they’re things I need.” He noticed Red hanging back by the shoji screens. “Who are you?”

“Who, me?” Red pointed at himself. “I’m Red.” Birth name still unknown.

“I know that voice,” Adam said, glasses glinting under the overhead light, which appeared to be the only lamp he’d left for Shiro to avoid walking into walls at night. “You’re the one who called yesterday.”

“I did?”

“You must have tried to call me when you saw that Missed Connections post from the stranger,” Shiro said, loping back over to sprawl defiantly across the only upholstered piece of furniture remaining in the living room: a futon couch. “Ryou did ask you to call me if you got into trouble.”

“Oh.” Adam’s stiff shoulders relaxed. “You’re that Red. Wait a minute, what do you mean you did, you don’t know if you called here or not?”

Red shrugged. “I can’t remember anything after a little old lady decked me in the street.”

“That’s crazy,” Roy muttered. “He’s trying to make a fool of you, dear.”

“No,” Adam said, “that sounds just dumb enough to ring true, and if all the stories Ryou tells about Red are accurate then it’s on brand.” He stepped close enough for Red to smell bergamot. “A word of advice,” Adam said, which left Red with that sense of déjà vu again. “Stick with the wild one.”

Then he and Roy swept out of the apartment, which was now devoid of a table for Shiro and Red to eat their dinner on. Adam must have taken the coffee table too. Shiro looked like he might be ready to get his pout on. Red motioned for Shiro to scooch over so that he could sit down next to him on the futon.

“Wild?” Red asked.

Shiro managed a tiny smile. “Yeah. Ryou has a bit of a reputation.” He raised a silvery eyebrow at Red. “So do you.”

“I do?” Red felt pleased to hear this even as he somehow had trouble believing it.

“Yup.” Shiro got up and went to the kitchen cabinets. Which were mostly bare. “Son of a– he took the dishes too?”

Red opened the hot bag to see what Hunk had packed for them. The spicy rich scent of the curry made his stomach grumble. “Hunk packed us some sporks and napkins.” He’d also packed the curry and rice in separate cartons that could do double duty as bowls. Red turned sideways on the futon to face Shiro. “How about we eat right out of the cartons and wash it down with that Wild Turkey?”

“Sounds good to me.” Shiro let the cabinets thump closed and returned to the futon. “I’m open to some bourbon therapy.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith really could have gone for that Wild Turkey. Keeping all of his worldly belongings in a hatbox had seemed like a great idea to younger him, traveling light and keeping it simple, until suddenly that hatbox was gone. Keith still had his two-trip Metro card and he knew how to use it, but Wally hadn’t been willing to leave him to take the subway back to Matt’s place. They rode away from the luggage storage facility in air-conditioned silence, except for Billy Joel’s _The Stranger_ album playing softly from the Infiniti’s sound system. Wally had been a fan of the piano man ever since Keith could remember.

_♬ I would not leave you in times of trouble ♬_

“Let me at least buy you dinner before I drop you off at your friend’s place,” Wally said. “You don’t have to tell me everything you’ve been up to. I’ll do all the talking if you want.”

Keith thought it over for a second. Wally had always been a standup guy. He probably meant exactly what he said.

_♬ I’ll take the bad times, I’ll take you just the way you are ♬_

“Okay.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Nadia let herself into the house and went straight for the fridge like she lived there. James remained in his seat at the breakfast nook working on his second hard cider of the evening. James and Nadia had been so young when their parents had married, and their subsequent sibling relationship had grown so staunch, that it was easy for them to forget they weren’t actually biologically related, except that so many people liked to remind them with that whole ‘you don’t look anything alike’ deal. Well, that and the fact that Dad had groomed James and James alone to take over the dealership, while Nadia had followed Aunt Ellen into the insurance industry. James expected Nadia to join him at the table with a drink of her own. When several minutes passed and she continued to rummage in his fridge, he finally asked, “What are you doing in there, looking for Zuul?”

“I’m looking for something to eat that isn’t too crunchy or too cold and that doesn’t need to be heated up too much,” was the slightly muffled reply. “Ina said I should avoid extremes of texture and temperature for the next few days.”

James took a pull on his drink. “Only you would get fillings just so you can mack on my dentist.”

“Says the man who’s been porking his administrative assistant.” Nadia chose a can of seltzer water and kept rummaging. “Anyway, I’m not married, so I can flirt with whoever I want.”

“I’m not– he’s my lover, okay? It’s an affair of the heart.” James would have figured Nadia could understand that, seeing as how she’d been a firsthand witness to his relationship with Sparks from the very beginning. “You know how I feel about him.”

Nadia shot a look of unfiltered pity at him before giving up on the fridge to open the freezer. “Oh my word.”

“What?” James pushed away from the table to join her at the fridge, heart thudding. He had fully believed Iverson’s explanation for Lance’s mysterious absence, but now his imagination was supplying horror movie imagery. “Is it– did the kidnapper leave us a message?” He loved Sparks, probably always would, but he’d never wished any real harm to the man he’d married.

“Your freezer looks like a doomsday prepper’s.” Nadia started taking vacuum sealed containers out and stacking them on the counter. They were all neatly named and dated in Lance’s block-lettered handwriting. “How many dinners have you been missing lately, lover boy?”

“A bunch,” James said in abashment. “It’s not easy making time for both of them. I try, but Sparks is so demanding and Lance is so... he always looks disappointed, but he never gives me an ultimatum.” It was easier letting Lance down than saying no in the face of Sparks’s persistence.

“Sparks is gonna eat you alive again, only this time I’m not gonna let him run away from the scene of the crime.” Nadia selected the pasta with vodka sauce and stacked the remaining packets back in the freezer. “Have the police given you any updates on what they’re doing to find Lance?”

“Lieutenant Iverson thinks it’s a bid for attention.” James watched his sister pull down a casserole dish from cabinets she clearly had more familiarity with than he did himself. “He says he’s seen this kind of thing happen before and he thinks Lance will come home on his own in the next day or two.”

“Did Iverson even contact the McClains?” Nadia popped the pasta in its vacuum seal in the microwave and programmed the defrost cycle. “Maybe we should call them. He could be with them, and if he’s not, they’d at least want to know.”

James shuddered at the thought of that fallout. “Can we please not have Veronica plotting my murder until we find out for sure if Lance is really in trouble. Iverson said to wait at least twenty-four hours.”

“That’s the stupidest plan I ever heard.” Nadia brought out bowls and silverware. “Iverson should be trying to track Lance’s phone.” Then her eyes widened and she grinned. “Lance has an iPhone. We can track it from here!”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Even half-empty, the apartment was Shiro’s comfort zone. Jaga the black alley cat had shown up on the fire escape hoping for a nibble, so he let her in and fed her some of the kibble he kept around just for her. He only had one wall-sharing neighbor at present, Hiroshi, a DJ who liked to spend the evenings he wasn’t working engaged in virtual crate digging. Shiro, Red and Jaga ate their dinner to a soundtrack of acid jazz selections softened by the insulation. It was surprising to Shiro how easily Red slotted into his vibe.

“You know something?” Shiro took a swig of Wild Turkey and passed the flask. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” Red asked, then held a finger up for Shiro to wait as he gulped from the flask. “Before you answer that, I should let you know that if you tell me I’m not wild I’m gonna be disappointed.”

Shiro laughed as he took the flask back. “Oh, you’re wild. Just not in the way I was expecting.” He examined the young man seated next to him balancing a takeout carton in one hand while calmly letting the cat hop all over him and sniff this new person in her environment. “From Ryou’s stories I thought you’d be more intense.”

“How did I meet Ryou?” Red sporked up some more curry and rice while Jaga sniffed behind his ear. “Maybe if I could remember that, it’d cause a snowball effect.”

“Maybe.” Shiro sipped bourbon. “If I’m remembering the story correctly, it was at a coffee shop. You hadn’t been working there very long. Ryou ordered a cold brew and you gave him an iced coffee. He went to the counter to complain about it and you poured the iced coffee over his head.”

Red paused with the loaded spork halfway between the carton and his astonished face. “Then what?”

Shiro laughed. “Then you got fired and Ryou took you out for street waffles.”

“He still wanted to date me after that?” Red finished his bite of curry and took the offered flask from Shiro’s hand.

“Ryou said he felt a connection.” Jaga walked across Red’s lap into Shiro’s, so he held his own takeout carton aside to run a soothing hand over her smooth back. “He wouldn’t be discouraged by a hard case, since he is one himself.”

“You guys are brothers, right?” Red leaned an arm over the back of the futon to rest his chin on his knuckles. “Does Ryou look much like you?”

Shiro nodded. “Almost exactly like me. We’re identical twins.”

“Whoa.” Shiro was used to this wide eyed reaction and was expecting the usual responses, like ‘can you read each other’s minds’ (it was more of an empathic sense than straight up telepathy) or, ‘have you ever pranked anyone pretending to be the other one’ (of course they had), or that well-worn favorite, ‘can you feel each other’s pain’ (no, and they had unequivocal proof of that fact). What he got instead was, “No wonder I’m so attracted to you.”

“Oh, that’s uh...” _Thou shalt not put thy moves on thy brother’s man_. Shiro would repeat this as a mantra as often as necessary until his libido got the message. “Thanks.”

“Sorry.” Red blushed, a cute ruddy darkening of his cheeks. “I must have a brain to mouth filter problem.”

“It’s okay.”

This little admission effectively broke up the informal dinner parlay. Red helped Shiro put the remains of dinner away and then Shiro gallantly offered Red the mattress, along with the few sheets Adam hadn’t taken. They were faded and threadbare, but they were clean because they’d been folded in the hall closet for a long while.

“I don’t want to put you out of your own bed,” Red said.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the futon.” And with Red behind the shoji screen, he would have less temptation to use checking up on him as an excuse to rest his eyes on that pretty form.

Only, once he was bedded down on the futon with his old striped beach towel for a blanket, Shiro realized that the closed shoji screens did nothing to curb his awareness of the intriguing omega on the other side. Red’s scent escaped to create a tempting vapor which would surely chase Shiro into dreamland, if he ever managed to fall asleep.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
When the old lady had attacked, Sendak had realized that the show of citizen outrage meant he was on the verge of making himself a target for some kind of law enforcement intervention. He’d had little choice but to leave the omega and his phone in the crosswalk and retreat into a nearby Starbucks, where he’d purchased a tall cup of blonde roast and taken it over to a window so he could watch the aftermath of the set-to play out. He watched the old lady steal the omega’s cell phone, and he watched the good Samaritan (or was he an accomplice?) rush over and then carry the omega off on the back of his moped like a downtown Galahad. Sendak was never going to catch up with that moped without once more making a spectacle of himself. But as the old lady continued to make her slow way toward a retail mall, he had every confidence that he could catch up with her and relieve her of that phone. It was bound to have contact information in it which could prove useful in his search for the earrings.

Once he got inside the mall, it wasn’t difficult to keep the woman in his sights. She was a beta with a low radius scent, but she was distinctive in that she wore her voluminous grey hair in a huge bun right on top of her head, and she walked with a stooped gait. She seemed determined to stop in every single shop on all three floors while buying hardly anything. They were constantly surrounded by tourists. If only she would visit the public restroom or decide to try something on in a dressing room, but no. She led him on the slowest chase of all time while buying: a book, a scarf, a pack of bobby pins, a plastic poncho, and a pair of socks.

After an eternity had passed, the old lady finally decided it was time to get herself something to eat. Surely this would finally bring her slow roll to a halt. Then Sendak could sit down for a minute. But no. The old lady sauntered around the food court gathering every single free sample on offer, and it was a lot of samples. Sendak couldn’t stand it any more. The Cinnabon was right there and the smell was driving him crazy.

He bought a center of the roll and when he turned around while stuffing his face the old lady was gone. Impossible! How could that woman move fast enough to leave his field of vision while he had his back turned for just a few minutes? She’d moved slower when he was standing in line at the Starbucks, but then she’d probably been slowed down by having to descend to the asphalt on creaky knees to retrieve that cell phone. Sendak stalked the food court, scanning all over while snarfing down his cinnamon roll. There! By the escalators. She would not escape him again.

As he followed her he began to hope that she would take a side exit back toward the subway, as there were lots of shadowy corners to disappear on that route, should he get just one moment alone with her. When it became clear that she planned to walk straight through one of the anchor department stores to get back to the open street, Sendak couldn’t take it anymore. Impulse control always became harder for him to rein in after extended frustration. He hadn’t actually had permission to punch Throk’s ticket, and now he really needed to secure those earrings to keep the people he answered to from punching his own. He picked the old lady up bodily and aimed for the elevators, which he should be able to jam for long enough to get that phone away from her. If it was a newer elevator he knew how to bypass the access control system, but he hoped it was older because hitting the stop button was just easier.

“Stop!” The woman had a screech that could shatter glass. “Pervert!”

“Hold it right there!”

Suddenly there was a security guard blocking his path armed with a taser and a walkie-talkie. Sendak took a quick measure of his opponent. The guard, whose name tag read Zandu, was clearly young and inexperienced, but alas neither weak nor stupid. Sendak would never get past him without causing a ruckus, and he was trying to keep his face out of the news. Perhaps this guard’s inexperience could work in Sendak’s favor, however. He’d just apply a little lie with a grain of the truth in it.

“I am merely trying to take back my property which this lady stole from the omega who stole it from me.”

“I didn’t steal that phone!” The old lady couldn’t be less convincing if she tried. “That iPhone is mine!”

Zandu caught the old lady’s error too, and reacted much as Sendak had hoped he would. “Both of you, come with me. We’ll settle this in the office.”

Good. It would probably be a cube barely big enough for surveillance equipment and a desk, located down a hall away from the prying eyes of the public. Sendak could get a view of where mall security had eyes on the facility, and where they didn’t. He could make contingency plans while waiting for Zandu to inevitably ask his supervisor to weigh in on what he should do with them. The old lady dared to aim a smirk over her hunched shoulder as they preceded Zandu out of the store, thinking she had the upper hand. Sendak smirked back, feeling satisfaction as she finally saw in his eyes how much danger she was in.

“I lied!” she hollered. “I’m a thief! Take me to jail!”

Damn it. Sendak could not afford to play verbal cat and mouse with the police right now. Time to take a powder. Sendak pushed the old lady at Zandu and ran.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Shiro resorted to luring Jaga into joining him on the futon in an effort to nod off. Sleep continued to elude him until sometime after dark o’thirty in the morning, but when he did finally succumb it was deep and restful, until something woke him up again. Drowsy as he was, it took him a moment to figure out what had woken him. It wasn’t Jaga, who was cleaning herself and purring, but not loudly enough to have roused him. It wasn’t morning sunlight, as that was effectively muted by the closed shoji screens. It was rustling sounds coming from the bathroom.

Shiro silently rose from the futon, instantly awake. People were after Red, he hadn’t forgotten that, and his body’s danger readiness could still go back online with ridiculous ease. His shooting star of a career as a pugilist had left more marks on him than could be seen with the naked eye. He crept over to the bathroom and peeped through the cracked open door.

There was Red, sliding out of his jeans while waiting for the shower to turn hot. Red rustled the shower curtain aside and checked the water while standing there clad only in boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. Steam emerged from the part in the shower curtain, and Red must have felt the water was finally hot enough because he skinned out of those boxer briefs and revealed his entire nude body for one golden moment before the shower curtain fell shut behind him.

Shiro stood frozen in place and embarrassed at himself. He needed to get a grip. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen a naked omega male before, it had just been a while. He and Adam had been fighting about the theater thing for– had it really been that long? Shiro finally managed to put his eyes back in his head and stumble toward the kitchenette. “Coffee,” he decided. “Breakfast.” 

Then he discovered that Adam had taken the programmable Krups and left the old Proctor-Silex percolator Shiro had used in his bachelor days, and which Adam had banished to the back of a bottom cabinet as strictly an emergency option. Oh, well. He couldn’t remember having any complaints about the coffee it made back in olden times, how bad could it be? At least Adam hadn’t taken all of their coffee beans, leaving Shiro the open bag that was already ground. The pantry was almost cleaned out, but most of the contents of the refrigerator were still in there. The only problem with that was he now had nothing to cook any of it in.

“I should have never let him talk me into replacing so much of my kitchen equipment.”

He probably owed the continued presence of his skinny fridge and twenty inch stove to the fact that they were too small to have attracted Roy’s notice, and also maybe because Shiro had used his restaurant supply contacts to get a good deal on them. Adam would have considered that reason enough to consider the split cost in Shiro’s favor. There was some leftover pizza in the fridge, and just enough aluminum foil left to reheat it in the oven. By the time Red emerged from the bathroom, Shiro had managed to cobble together what he hoped would be an edible breakfast. As in, they could eat it and not get food poisoning.

He poured himself a cup of coffee into one of the only mugs he had left now, one with two cats huddling under an umbrella saying ‘Someday, when we’re both rich and famous, we’ll look back on all of this and laugh.’ Adam had left behind all the ceramic mugs with Sandra Boynton comic animals on them, or what was left of them after years of kitchen accident attrition. They’d been a household staple during Shiro’s childhood. He could hardly remember a single breakfast with his family where at least one of those mugs wouldn’t be sitting on the table with stream drifting off the top. Ryou had taken the hippo ones when he’d moved out and Shiro had kept the cat ones.

Shiro took a swig of the coffee, which tasted a little skunky. Maybe he should have cleaned that old percolator more carefully before trying to brew with it. The dispenser full of turbinado sugar was but a memory, so he decided to make do with some milk from the fridge. He concentrated on this task while trying not to be hyper aware of Red hurrying past him wearing nothing but one of the towels from his hatbox. At this point in time Red probably owned more towels than Shiro did. He thought he’d gotten the milk to coffee ratio to a point where the skunk factor was significantly minimized by the time Red came back out of the bedroom alcove. He poured his formula for skunk-free coffee into a mug depicting cats holding heart-shaped balloons, turned to offer it to Red and stopped in his tracks.

Red had changed into black jeans with holes ripped in the knees, and a red and black raglan that left peeks of skin at his waist where the scalloped hem didn’t quite meet the waistband of the jeans. “It’s too small, isn’t it?” Red tugged on the bottom of the shirt trying to get the sides to stop playing peekaboo. “I must have washed it in hot water by mistake.”

“No.” Shiro finally remembered that his tongue was for speaking with. “I think it’s supposed to fit that way.” He handed Red the coffee, eyes traveling down long legs against his own better judgment. “Maybe you accidentally washed those shoes in hot water. Those kind of shoes need the delicate cycle.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too.” Red lifted one foot to examine the vulcanized rubber sole, which was loose at the heel. “My other shoes don’t match, though.”

“I could try to fix them for you later, if you want,” Shiro said. “I mean, if you wind up staying another night. I have some rubber cement around here somewhere. I think.” If Adam hadn’t taken it with him.

Red smiled at him and it made his belly flutter from more than hunger. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They ate breakfast standing up at the kitchenette’s counter, talking about silly things like what kind of pizza toppings they liked, and it was nice. Eventually the casual breakfast conversation came around to Shiro’s line of work. Shiro had mentioned that he had two showings to cover that afternoon and evening, and Red seemed to be an innately curious person. Shiro gave him the short version of the family history, about how a previous generation of Shiroganes, Garretts and Balmeras had pulled together to buy their building after the owner had to put it up for commercial short sale and they were all at risk of having their leases terminated. The Shiroganes and the Garretts had been running the movie theater and the restaurant respectively as business tenants, and the Balmeras had been managing the apartments located on the upper floors. Now the Balmeras owned the apartments they managed, which out of convenience they rented out mostly to Shiroganes, Garretts, and friends of all three families.

“That’s a pretty sweet deal,” Red said.

“I can’t complain,” Shiro agreed.

He did get a better rate than he probably could have gotten anywhere else in the area, along with a lot more freedom to do what he liked with the apartment. Perks of being part-owner in his case. The Balmeras got a sweet deal out of it as well, rarely having to pay for deep background checks because so many of their tenants were already well known to them. Meanwhile, Shiro had an ideal commute, and employees he knew he could trust because their families had so much history with each other.

“So, the movie theater and the restaurant weren’t always the same business?”

“No,” Shiro said, “we didn’t merge until the aughts.”

By that point distributors had switched over to digital in numbers that could no longer be ignored. This was different than the platter system upgrade, which Silver Movie Palace had weathered well enough without updating since it had only ever had one screen, but without 35 millimeter film Shiro’s dad wouldn’t be able to show new releases anymore at all. The cost to refit his theater for digital cinema was prohibitive at the time. Shiro’s father and grandfather had both been in the habit of buying the reels instead of returning them whenever they could get a good deal, and subsequently they had an impressive collection of old movies (admittedly, not all of them true classics). They were able to get by with second run showings for a little while, but it wasn’t very long before their most recently acquired film stock had aged out of its second run prime, and in addition to that they were up against the home video market. Their concessions sales were not making up the difference when they couldn’t get enough ticket sales to cover their second run distribution deals.

Right about the same time this was happening, the Garrett Grille was experiencing heightened competition from food trucks moving into the neighborhood. Their counter service niche on the block was fading fast, but Herschel Garrett had hit upon the idea that if they could somehow offer sit-down service then they could get some of their business back. He and Mizuki Shirogane had then put their heads together and come up with a plan to diversify through a business merger. Upgrading the theater’s seating with dine-in trays was a lot simpler to accomplish than upgrading the projection system, especially with Garrett helping defray the costs. The Garretts took over concessions inside the theater, which was rebranded as a repertory cinema, and the Shiroganes used their distribution connections to offer DVDs for sale that could be added to delivery orders. Thus a new business model was born and damn it, that model was still working fine, they didn’t need to change.

He did get where Adam was coming from. Gentrification seemed to move closer to their block every year. Turning the theater and grille into an art house theater with a clean food restaurant attached and trendy lofts above would be smart. Eventually. It would also require a huge outlay of resources to make happen, and it was hard for Shiro to find the justification to push for it when the current setup was actually still making enough money to keep everybody comfortable. Especially not when the acquisition of those resources would probably force the Balmeras to charge higher rents.

“He might have been trying to look out for you,” Red said. He tore his pizza crusts up into bite sized pieces before eating them, which was kind of cute. “I’m not trying to get all up in your business, just tell me if I’m being out of line.”

“No, you’re not out of line.” After all, Shiro had just unloaded on him. What was it about Red that kept drawing him out? “Also, you’re right, he was definitely trying to look out for me. It’s just not the right time to act on that yet.” His father had taught him that timing was everything in business, and Shiro had taken the lesson to heart. His family’s business survival was a testament to good timing. “You’re really easy to talk to, you know that?”

Red smiled around a bite of pizza crust. “Am I not supposed to be?”

“The way Ryou described you, he made you sound, I don’t know, kind of sparky.”

Red grimaced.

“Are you okay?” Shiro worried that in spite of his best efforts he’d managed to give Red a stomach ache. “Do you need me to get some Rolaids? I should have some in the bathroom.” He might need to double check on that.

“No, I’m fine.” Red put up a hand in a calming gesture. “I just had an unexpected reaction to that word.”

“What word?” What word had Shiro not used before in their interactions together? “Sparky?”

“Yeah.” Red looked pained. “Something about that word makes my stomach clench.”

Shiro couldn’t resist. “Is it sparking your memory?”

Red punched out a laugh. “Ay, Dios mío, you did NOT.” He paused. “I guess I speak Spanish. ¿Hablas Español?”

“Muy poco,” Shiro replied. “Nowhere near as well as you, I’m sure.” Red made it sound like speaking in cursive.

“I wish I could remember more about it.” Red shrugged. “I guess it will help me when I go to the bodega later, though.”

Now Shiro was the one whose stomach was clenching. “You’re leaving?”

“Only for a little while.” Red pulled a couple of items out of his jeans pocket: a matchbook and a one hundred dollar bill. “I want to help you by putting some food back in your pantry, since you’ve helped me so much. Also, I figure since I’ve been in this place before it might help trigger my memory.”

Shiro mentally put aside the question of where and how Red might have acquired the Benjamin. It wasn’t as if Red could answer the question anyway. The matchbook was from a bodega called Sal’s located only a mildly challenging walk away from the apartment. Shiro had passed by it on his travels but never actually been inside.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m sure.” Red smiled. “Gotta try spreading my wings sometime, right?”


	3. Magic Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance goes looking for groceries and finds a job. Sendak goes looking for Red and catches a lucky break. James goes looking for Lance and (eventually) finds Keith. Shiro finds out something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and thank you for the kudos, it is much appreciated. :)

  
The lion jacket made Red feel stronger for some reason, and the big dangly earring still gave him an odd feeling of recognition, so he put on the jacket even though the day was warm, and he put the earring in his pocket so that he could reach in and squeeze it like a good luck charm. Then he walked to Sal’s Bodega, which turned out to be a small corner store with ads for sandwiches in the windows alongside a sign announcing the presence of an ATM. Nothing about its exterior incited any specific memories to surface for Red, but he still felt quite comfortable walking in under the red and yellow awning and picking up a basket. Encouraged by the sense of familiarity, Red strolled down the refrigerated aisle before remembering that Shiro’s refrigerator was still stocked. It was his pantry that needed refilling, so Red turned around to look in the dry goods aisle. The canned vegetables looked a little overpriced, though Red wasn’t sure what price comparison his mixed up brain was trying to reference.

There was also tuna, ramen, black beans, breakfast cereal and just about every kind of snack cake under the sun. Red loaded his basket with some of each plus a brick of espresso and contemplated whether he ought to get Shiro some of the cookware. The coffee would probably taste better made in a moka pot, and this store had the small ones for cheap. They also had three sizes of calderos and some wooden spoons. It wouldn’t completely replace what was missing from Shiro’s kitchen but it would give him a few more food prep options. He added the extra items until he got to the large caldero, in which he found a small tabby cat curled up and decided to let her go on napping. Still smiling about the cat discovery, he turned and found himself facing a guy in a bib apron and a visor that had the store’s logo on it.

He was a tall beta with a scruffy goatee and a pot belly, and he smelled like grease. “You!”

Red gulped. “Me?”

Tall Scruffy Greasefire scowled. “I remember you!”

Red leaned forward in hope. “You do?”

“Yeah! You were in here shoplifting loosies! What do you gotta say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry?” Just how wild was he? Was he feral? “I can pay for it, look!” He held out the one hundred dollar bill.

“That’s great!” The tall scruffy guy snatched the bill out of Red’s hand. “Now get out!”

“Sal,” said another guy in a bib apron, leaning over the counter. “I don’t think– ”

“I don’t pay you to think,” said Sal as he took the basket out of Red’s hand and steered him toward the door by the scruff of his jacket.

“But Sal, I don’t think he’s the– ”

“And don’t come back!”

Then Red found himself back out on the street minus a hundred dollars, having not succeeded at getting a single damn thing to repay Shiro for taking him in. His first flight from the nest (that he could remember) was officially a crash and burn.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
After the mall debacle, Sendak had doubled back towards Times Square and decided to stay at a two star hotel where he could disappear into another crowd of tourists, rather than take a commuter train home and miss the chance at a random sighting of his quarry. He hit the bricks first thing in the morning with renewed inspiration. He’d remembered that Galahad’s moped had a logo on its tool box that matched a logo on the helmet. Sendak hadn’t gotten a close look at either one, but the capital letters had been in a big, fancy script, so he knew he was looking for a business starting with the letter S, it was probably some kind of a food service place, and if the moped’s rider had been on a delivery run when he came across the scene then that food service place was likely to be within a three mile radius of that intersection. After reading the yellow pages in his hotel room’s phone book, Sendak had a few likely candidates for where Sir Galahad parked his silver steed. First stop was a bodega, where he bought coffee and an egg and cheeser, and that’s when he got a lucky break.

Sendak sipped his heavily doctored coffee and threw his egg and cheeser in a public trash bin as he kept the green lion in his sights. If the proprietor of Sal’s had made the food, then he should really stick to management. Hopefully Throk’s little trollop would stop somewhere for lunch before Sendak had to scoop him up, because he was still hungry.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
In a junior four apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, a spontaneous dance of joy had just broken out.

Pidge dared to do a herkie. “Our team is red hot!” At barely eighteen she was still tiny, so the risk of her actually kicking over the furniture was comparatively low.

Matt, not tiny, threw a leg up in a high kick that nearly took out a table lamp. “That Sniv ain’t diddly squat!”

Keith watched from the couch with a small smile on his face as the Holt siblings danced around their living room. They had every reason to celebrate, as they’d finally won a lottery award big enough for Matt to tell Sniv where to get off. It wasn’t the big one they’d been chasing, but it was enough to buy themselves some time to dream.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Red hunched along on the sidewalk, depressed and angry. He hadn’t known those emotions could live side by side; or maybe he had, and he just didn’t remember. He didn’t even really know where he was going, until a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye caused him to pause and look over. Someone had just taped up a ‘help wanted’ sign in the window of a magic club? Red walked closer for a better look. The place was called Oriande. The sign said to inquire within, so Red went in, following the low murmur of voices coming from the other side of a beaded curtain.

“...can’t believe he just quit without notice.”

“You really should have allowed him to wear his glasses, you know.”

“Those glasses were boner killers.”

“Such talk from you.”

“Sorry Grandma.”

Red parted the curtain, the clatter of beads causing the three people loitering around the bar to look over at him. “Um, hi.”

“Hello.” An alpha with a messy high fade and goatee levered himself up off the bar and grinned in a toothy attempt at charm. “You looking for a job?”

“Yeah,” said Red. “But um, what kind of job is it?” Red wasn’t sure what kinds of jobs he could actually do – for all he knew he already had a job and someone was currently wondering where the hell he was – but at this point he was open to some trial and error.

A beta with red hair and a gorgeous mustache circled around the other side of the first guy. “Why, show business, of course!” He stepped toward Red with his hand out in greeting. “I’m Coran the Magnificent, and this is Sniv, the floor manager and emcee. Behind the bar is Zandra, the owner of this fine establishment. How do you do?”

Red figured he was doing better now than he had been before he’d ventured into Oriande.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
James had helped Nadia sign into Lance’s iCloud account from the desktop computer in the upstairs home office, and then they’d located Lance’s phone. It appeared to be wandering through a mall in Midtown Manhattan.

“We should go track it down,” Nadia said. She was seated at the desk, which was painted some color called May Iris. Lance had picked it out when he’d redecorated in here, as James recalled.

“No, we should not go track it down,” James said as he leaned over her shoulder. “Let’s assume for just one second that isn’t actually Lance we’re looking at.” Although he still thought it was. “What if the person who has it is some kind of gangster? Anyway, we’ll never get over there before that mall closes, and who knows where they’ll go next.”

“You may have a point about that last part,” Nadia admitted. “Alright, let’s remote lock it and report it as missing to the cops.”

James started going through his suit pockets to find Iverson’s card.

“Not the one who already blew you off,” Nadia said. “We need to call the precinct closest to where the phone is right now.”

So that’s what they’d done. The officer who took their report promised to look into it and call them back. They’d both fallen asleep on the couch waiting for that call. In the early hours of the next morning, James’s cell phone woke him up.

_“We got your missing iPhone here. Complete with a kook who swears up and down they’re married to you.”_

The officer sounded doubtful, but James felt vindicated.

“Thank you officer, I’ll be there to collect him as soon as I can.”

_“Hey, wait a minute, it’s not– ”_

James ended the call and rose creakily from the couch to locate all the items he needed in order to leave the house again. He hoped Lance didn’t need to be bailed out – clandestine evenings with Sparks were hitting his secret debit account hard – but he intended to have his checkbook on him just in case. He also needed to call and let his employees know that he might be coming in late. The dealership wasn’t open yet, so he left a voice mail on the reception line. He could have just called Sparks at home, but then he’d have to answer a barrage of questions about his marriage that he really didn’t want to get into with his boyfriend. Nadia woke up while he was leaving his voice mail.

“Did they find Lance?” she asked. When James nodded, she said, “I’m coming with you.”

James didn’t mind the prospect of having his sister at his side on this trip for what might be an uncomfortable confrontation. He’d been wracking his brains for reasons why Lance might have pulled a stunt like this. Finding out about Sparks was top of the list.

Nadia kept her own counsel as they got on the freeway, stopping only for some drive-thru breakfast. Traffic was fairly light this hour of the morning, so they made excellent time. Unfortunately, there was no parking available in front of the precinct building, so James swung around the block. And then another block. And then yet another block before he finally found a parking garage that wasn’t already full.

“Great jumping Jehoshaphat,” Nadia said as they rolled past the valet section towards self-service, and James couldn’t agree more. Parked there under bright induction lights was Lance’s car.

So the Saab had been safe this entire time, probably racking up a massive parking bill, and Lance hadn’t gotten any further away from it than walking distance. “This is looking more and more like Iverson was right.”

“Lance said he was being followed,” Nadia said, but she sounded doubtful too.

They walked to the precinct and spoke to the officer at the visitor’s station. After a short wait, they were escorted to a cramped office belonging to a Sergeant Thace, who showed them an iPhone in a clear evidence bag. The screen was cracked, but the silicon case bearing the logo for the McClain family pizzeria was unmistakable.

“That’s Lance’s phone,” James confirmed. “Can I see him?”

Thace gave him an odd expression from across the desk. “Does your spouse identify as male? We’d been assuming they identified as female. Our apologies if we misgendered him.”

What a strange assumption. James thought anyone who saw Lance should be able to clock him for a male omega easily, especially if they got close enough to catch his scent. Sparks talked a lot about how hoydenish he thought Lance was, but James had personally never seen it. But maybe Sparks had noticed something about him that other people noticed as well. “Please, just let me see him.”

“All right.” He called a number from a phone on his desk. “Bring prisoner Y0XT39 to my office. Use he/him/his pronouns. Yes Acxa, I’m quite serious. Thank you.”

James watched the doorway anxiously, aware of his sister turning in her chair beside him to watch as well. He didn’t know what to expect. Would he be facing a chastened Lance, a defiant one, a coy one or perhaps just a tired one? He had apparently spent the night in a holding cell, after all. James was of a mind to let Nadia take Lance’s car home, so that he could take the long way home with Lance while they had a long overdue conversation about where their marriage was going.

That conversation was going to have to wait, because the person being escorted to the door by a stern-faced female officer was not Lance. It was a tiny stooped old beta woman with a fluffy grey bun sticking up from the top of her head like troll hair. She grinned when she saw James sitting there looking aghast.

“Hi toots,” she said. “How are our three children?”

“This is not my spouse,” James said to Thace, then to the old lady, “what have you done with my omega?”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” said the old lady. “I saved him from that big nasty brute who tried to drag him off the street! And in gratitude, he gave me his phone.”

Big nasty brute? James’s imagination kicked into high gear. “What big nasty brute?”

“Keep in mind,” Nadia placed a steadying hand on James’s shoulder, “that this person might not have a solid grip on reality.”

“Would this be the same big nasty brute who tried to drag you out of the mall yesterday evening?” asked Thace calmly.

“Same alpha,” said the little old lady. “After Romeo showed up and carried the omega lad off on the back of his bike, that other alpha must have decided to follow me instead.” She sniffed. “The pervert.”

“We have witness confirmation that an alpha really did try to carry off this– ” Thace paused. “I’m sorry, what are your pronouns please?”

“Mrs. McGillicuddy,” said the little old lady.

“Mrs. McGillicuddy was nearly kidnapped by an alpha matching the description of a big nasty brute,” Thace continued. “The alpha male was apprehended by mall security, but he created a diversion and escaped custody.”

“And this man now has Lance?” James couldn’t believe it. Iverson had been wrong. If he’d thought for one second that things could be this serious, he’d have taken Nadia up on her offer of tracking the phone the night before.

“No, he doesn’t,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy. “Because I saved him. Then that sexy beast showed up out of nowhere and carried him off into the sunset.”

“What sexy beast?” If someone didn’t give James an answer to one of his questions that actually made sense he was going to have to resort to yelling.

“The other alpha,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, who was being awfully cooperative after she’d started out the interview pretending to be Lance. Maybe she was trying to lay a groundwork of bullshit so thick it could never be shoveled through to charge her with anything.

Thace brought out a notebook to write on, calm as the eye of a shitstorm. “So there was a second alpha involved in this incident?”

“A real Casanova,” she said. “One minute he’s carrying the kid out of the intersection before he can get run over, the next the kid’s hopping on the back of his bike and off they go.”

“I thought you said that you saved Lance,” Nadia interjected.

“I did,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy. “I saved him from the first alpha, that depraved sicko who followed me around and tried to kidnap me. Before that he tried to drag your young fella off, but I stopped him with my purse.” She shook her skinny fist as if this illustrated anything. “Then the young fella decided to go with the second alpha, and I can hardly blame him for that.” She grinned again. “What a beefcake!”

“Mister Griffin.” Thace looked up from his notebook and folded his hands on his desk. “Do you wish to pursue any charges against Mrs. McGillicuddy?” Everything about his posture and expression communicated ‘please don't make us keep her.’

“I don’t know what charges I’d even want to pursue after hearing that story,” James admitted.

“Fantastic!” Mrs. McGillicuddy beamed at the whole room. “If you can just give me back my purse and my phone then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Riiight. “What sort of charges can I pursue for theft of an iPhone?” James crossed his arms.

“Based on the current evidence, we could pursue Criminal Possession of Stolen Property,” said Thace. “The degree would depend on the value of the iPhone.”

“What difference would the degree make?” asked Nadia.

“Well, the fifth degree would be a misdemeanor,” said Thace, “but the fourth degree would be a felony.”

“Forget about the iPhone then,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, to the surprise of no one. “But your young man will corroborate my story, mark my words.”

Thace told Acxa to process Mrs. McGillicuddy out. After they’d left, he took the iPhone out of the evidence bag. “I imagine you’ll want to have this back, but with your spouse still a missing person, this might be evidence. Or it might have a clue on it.”

James watched as Thace slid the phone across the desk at him, careful to hold it on the sides of the case. “What do you think I should do?”

“We’ve confirmed that only the phone’s outer glass is broken, so the digitizer is still operational. You should be able to unlock it and check for recent calls. Whoever Lance is with now may have called him, or he may have called them.”

James felt lightheaded. All of these months of leading a secret life, and now he was finding clues that Lance may have had one of his own. Nadia squeezed his shoulder. James took the phone out of lost mode and tapped on the green phone icon to check recents, careful to avoid the hairline crack. The only call logged for Sunday was the one Lance had made to Nadia. There were calls logged for Saturday, but none for Monday.

“There are voice mails waiting,” Nadia said, pointing out the red circle with the number inside of it. James knew some of those were from him, and suspected some were from Nadia, a suspicion confirmed when he tapped over to voicemail. However, there was one unheard message from less than an hour ago, and the number was unfamiliar to him. He tapped to play the message on speaker.

_“Hey! It’s Luki from the Swap Shop, you called about the jacket? I’m glad you called, because the guy who swapped it in came back asking if anyone found anything in the pockets. He left his contact information with us, so give me a call, or you can stop by after we open if you want. I’ll be glad to help you guys get this thing sorted out.”_

“The jacket.” James thought back to Saturday evening, Lance safe in their kitchen and annoyed with him for ditching dinner at the last minute. “The rock star jacket.”

“Can you remember any details about this jacket?” asked Thace while he typed something into his computer. Probably backtracking Luki’s phone number.

“Ah...” James had been so focused on trying to escape for his rendezvous with Sparks that he hadn’t paid much attention to the jacket beyond that it was something Lance had purchased without telling him. “It didn’t really look like something he would wear. The waistband was right at his natural waist, which is not a look he usually goes for because he thinks it throws off his body proportions. And it was dark green? I think? With bright red at the cuffs and around the collar.” He remembered touching that collar while Lance tried to duck out of his grasp. “The collar was soft. Like satin, maybe.”

“Sounds vintage,” said Nadia.

“It probably was,” said Thace. “The Swap Shop is a thrift store located not far from where Lance was last seen. That could be coincidental, but it’s also possible that Lance has come into possession of something that’s not safe for him to be walking around with. The alpha who attacked Mrs. McGillicuddy told mall security that she had stolen something from an omega who had stolen something from him. We assumed he meant the phone, but it could actually be related to this jacket.”

“You think I should go and talk to this lady at the Swap Shop?” James asked.

“How about if we try something else first,” said Thace. “Call her back from this phone,” he pointed at the iPhone still face up on the desk between them, “and just don’t mention that you’re not Lance. Is his voice distinctive in a way that would differentiate it immediately from yours?”

Lance had a mellifluous voice, maybe a bit brighter in tone than James’s, which was a bit darker. “I don’t think our voices are so different that a stranger could tell us apart all that easily.” Especially if he made an effort to imitate Lance’s bubbly persona, which he thought he might be able to pull off with someone who had probably only met him once.

“See if you can get that contact information she mentioned,” said Thace. “The key to finding Lance may lie with the person who owned the jacket before he did.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
_Riing._

_♬ At night I lock the door where no one else can see ♬_

Over the sound of loud pop music which Matt had learned to think of as a lullaby, the VOIP phone rang. It’s tinny discordance was barely enough to rouse him from his nap.

_♬ I’m tired of dancing here all by myself ♬_

_Riiing._

Pidge and Keith were in the kitchen baking peanut butter cookies. They were already upright and much closer. Why didn’t one of those two get the phone?

_♬ Tonight I wanna dance with someone else ♬_

_Briiing._

“Geez.”

Matt supposed nap time was over. He crawled out of bed and left his room to answer the phone, which was hooked up to the modem in the living room. Walking through the short hallway, he could smell fried peanut butter. Those two must have burnt their first batch. As he entered the living room, he heard the reason why his sister and friend hadn’t heard the phone: they were singing along. Or yelling along, same difference at that volume.

**♪ “Now I know you’re mine!” ♪**

Matt picked up the handset and tried to say hello. He was pretty sure the word had actually left his lips, but it was swallowed up by the sing-along happening in his vicinity. He was vaguely aware of a mumble in his ear but he couldn’t make out a word of it. He tried to say ‘I’m sorry, what?’ but he barely heard that either, so he stepped over to the stereo system and turned the volume down.

“Sorry about that,” he said, “what did you say?”

_“I said,”_ man, the guy sounded super testy, _“I’m trying to reach a guy named Keith about a jacket.”_ Geez, what crawled into his shorts?

“Why did you turn down our tunes?” Pidge parted the curtains that had turned the apartment’s dining room into her bedroom. “We were jamming.”

“Sorry Pidge,” Matt said, then pitched his voice a little louder. “Hey, Keith! Your stranger’s on the phone!”

“Fucking finally!” Keith came through the curtains after Pidge and took the phone from Matt’s outstretched hand. “Hey, you got my stuff? Why did you run from me, man?”

Matt plopped down in a lounge chair to casually eavesdrop on Keith’s conversation.

“That’s weird. I wouldn’t know anything about that.” The guarded look on Keith’s face implied he did indeed know something about whatever that was. “Why don’t we meet someplace and talk it over? No, you tell me what you’re wearing and I’ll find you.” He paused. “Really? You do you, at least you’ll be easy to spot.”

Matt listened to Keith finish arranging an early evening meet at a dance hall on 37th Street. He held his peace until Keith hung up the phone.

“Keith what the fuck.”

“Relax.” Keith flopped down on the couch which had served as his bed the past couple of days. “He ran because he saw one of Throk’s business associates in a public place in broad daylight. Anybody who’d rabbit instead of bluffing in that situation is someone I can handle with ease.”

“Throk is dead,” Matt reminded him.

“I don’t think that this guy could have killed him,” was Keith’s flippant response.

“What if the guy who did kill him is this business associate who’s been following the stranger?”

Keith scowled. “If that’s the case then the stranger needs me more than I need him.” He shrugged. “Those are the kind of odds I like.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Red nervously awaited his cue from backstage at Oriande. The floor manager, Sniv, had wanted him to start right away, even though he wasn’t familiar with the act yet. Coran had given him a crash course in where to stand and what to hold for his featured acts, which were the doves to mice trick and the linking rings trick. Red felt he might be able to fake his way through the doves to mice trick, since Coran was handling everything to do with the cage, which had a secret compartment in it. All Red had to do was wrangle the animals, which he discovered he could do competently enough, though maybe not as sexily as Sniv seemed to want (arching one’s back was not a practical manner of presentation when handling a small wriggly animal). No, what Red was actually worried about was the linking rings trick.

He didn’t have to worry about actually linking the rings together – again, that was all on Coran. He just had to handle those rings in a way that would convince the audience that all of them were separate, when in fact two of them were permanently linked together. He also had to ensure the audience couldn’t see the gap in one of the rings. This involved some sleight of hand which he wasn’t sure if he could pull off. He had to try, though. Coran was a very nice man, and Red needed this job.

Red was given access to costumes and makeup in the dressing room, and instructions from Sniv to ‘be sexy’ with a suggestion to make his hair bigger by wearing a wig. Sniv told him that his predecessor had favored the blond feathered wig and the purple polyester jumpsuit. Red thought that shade of purple would look too harsh on him and figured he’d look better in the crushed velvet bodysuit in a softer shade of lavender. For the wig he decided on a razor cut shag with long bangs in a shade of red too candy-coated to be mistaken for natural. It brought out the red in the long dangly earring, which Red had decided to wear as an accessory since he wasn’t too sure about the makeup options. When Romelle, the cigarette girl/cocktail waitress, joined him in the dressing room, she recommended that he stick to matte, waterproof options and not worry about whether they’d be too bright.

After he took that advice Red figured he looked presentable enough to go on stage, and he left the dressing room. On stage, Sniv seemed to be bombing. Or at least, that was the general impression Red got from all the times he was hearing the house band’s drummer offer up a rimshot followed by weak chuckles.

“Don’t worry,” Coran said, placing a comforting hand on Red’s shoulder. “He’s just up there ensuring we’ll look even better by comparison.”

That was only moderately reassuring.

“And now!” Sniv’s microphone volume turned up to compete with a drumroll. “For the act all of you fine gentlefolk have come to see! It’s Coran the Magnificent and his Fabulous Famulus Red!”

The drapes went up and the house band launched into a waltz as they started their act. The stage lights were blindingly bright, but Red was able to make out the silhouettes of tables with diners around them through a haze of cigarette smoke. He tried to focus on Coran instead, to keep the jitters at bay. They performed the illusion of turning doves into mice with no problems. Coran went around to several candlelit tables, with Red following carrying scarves so he could do the pan trick, loading colorful scraps of cloth into a covered pan and revealing a dove or a mouse after lifting the lid. Coran pulled a few quarters from behind a few ears and a bouquet out of his sleeve, and everything was going hunky dory but then it was time to go back up on stage and perform the linking rings trick.

The band gave them a drumroll as Coran displayed the rings, clinking them and dropping them from one hand to the other so that it really looked like four separate rings instead of one solid ring, two linked rings and a ring with a little gap like a giant key ring. He was going to toss those rings for Red to catch to further the illusion that they were four separate rings. First ring away and it was the solid one; Red caught it with a flourish to a smattering of applause. Second ring was the one with the gap; Red managed to catch it on his arm and roll it around convincingly enough (or at least he hoped so). Coran had a method of throwing the final two rings, one quickly after the other so that it looked like they were flying through the air separately when really they were flying together. Red was supposed to catch one in each hand, but close enough together to avoid revealing that they were linked.

He found himself, quite without realizing what he was doing, dropping into a squat to catch the two rings as if he was adjusting for a fly ball. That was pure muscle memory. He must have played a sport! He stood up feeling so happy at having unlocked even one memory. Then the audience laughed and he remembered that he was supposed to be participating in a magic show. The show went on, and Red thought he did alright, until afterward when everybody who wasn’t still serving drinks met backstage.

Sniv was not happy. “You’re supposed to be the hot tamale, not the ball boy.”

“He didn’t reveal the trick,” Coran said, patting Red on the back. “Not bad at all for your first day, and you even succeeded in making them laugh.”

“He’s supposed to be sexy, not funny.” Sniv was still on his snit. “I’m supposed to be funny!”

“I agree with Coran,” said Zandra, “I thought he did quite well for his first time out. Perhaps we can let him go home and practice tonight, however, and come back ready to try again tomorrow. Coran, can you make do with audience participation tricks for the late show?”

“Yes indeed, in fact that’s what I’d intended to do before we lucked into finding our Red, here.”

“That’s fine then.” Zandra withdrew a roll of cash from the depths of her bartender’s apron and peeled off two twenties to hand over to Red. “This is your pay per show, you understand. We normally have two shows per day except on Sundays, but if you don’t work a show then you won’t get the pay for that show. You only get paid for the shows you’re in.” She patted him on the shoulder and handed him the rings from the linked rings trick. “Now go home and practice everything you did today, but try to give it some ooh la la.”

“I’ll ooh all the la’s tomorrow!” Red promised, and he was so excited that he just snatched his jacket out of the staff coatroom and left, forgetting to change out of his costume first.

Oh well. He’d just been dressed this way in front of at least two dozen people, there was really nothing to be embarrassed about, and the walk back to Shiro’s apartment was not that far. He still hadn’t succeeded in buying Shiro any food, but he’d gotten a job! Heck, that meant he was halfway there!

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
_♬ Did a full one-eighty, crazy ♬_

As he entered the club behind a group of people whose jeans were held on by a few strings of cotton, James realized that he might be a little overdressed. Once inside he had to weave around people shuffling like mad, their feet carrying them on erratic paths across the dance floor. Blue and purple lights rotated above their heads, breaking through the haze from smog machines. Past a sea of waving heads sporting hair of every description, James spotted the bar. The mysterious (and rude) Keith had told him that he’d come to him, but James figured it would be easier to find him at the bar. Besides, he could use a drink.

_♬ If you wanna believe that anything could stop me ♬_

Suddenly, there was a young man right up in his personal space, close enough to see the glitter of indigo eyes and a sharp grin on a strikingly beautiful face. His lithe body was well displayed in the frayed cotton pants (it seemed disingenuous to call them jeans when so much of the denim was unraveled) similar to what many of the other patrons were wearing, along with a cropped black t-shirt that exposed a little bit of his pale midriff with every jut of his ribcage and roll of his spine. The omega was using his perfectly proportioned body to dance right up on James in perfect time with the beat, and in spite of the delicacy of his scent, it was perfectly obvious that this omega was the dangerous kind.

_♬ Walk away, you know how ♬_

James tried to back away and the omega followed him, because he had a tight grip on his tie and he wasn’t letting go. James felt the wall against his back, and there was the omega on his front leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not the stranger.”

Shit on a biscuit. “You’re Keith.”

“I am.” Keith jerked on the tie. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the stranger’s husband,” said James. “He disappeared while trying to return your belongings to you. I’m trying to find him.”

Keith freed one tie-holding hand to reach down and pull up James’s left hand. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

Shit on all of the biscuits. “I was worried it might look out of place in here.” He’d forgotten to put it back on after getting home from his weekend trip with Sparks. Had Lance noticed?

Keith raised an ebony eyebrow. “Most guys who like wearing their wedding rings forget they even have them on.”

“I’m not here to discuss my marriage with you.” James yanked his tie out of Keith’s hand. “I’m here to find Lance. I was under the impression that you wanted him found too.”

“Buy me a drink and let’s talk,” said Keith.

So James ordered them each a cocktail and they took their drinks to a corner of the bar where they could put their heads together in relative privacy. The alcohol loosened James’s tongue a little more than he would have been comfortable with stone cold sober. He wound up telling Keith more than he’d intended to about what he and the police had discovered so far.

“I saw him with that gorilla in the park,” Keith said. “Guy must have shown up right before I did.”

James stirred the dregs of his drink with the garnish stick. “Who is he?” 

“I don’t know.” Keith stared off into the middle distance. “Someone who used to associate with– my ex. I never knew his name.”

“Is your ex the guy who carried Lance off on his moped?”

“I doubt it,” Keith said flatly. “But ‘beefcake on a moped’ isn’t really a lot to go on.” He turned to look at James, head tilted. “Is it possible that Lance had a sidepiece?”

“A si– ” James abruptly realized he didn’t mean a weapon. “No.” But now doubt was creeping in.

“Let’s go to your place,” Keith said. “Maybe we can find some clues.”

“I’ve already looked, believe me.” James put his head in his hands.

“Then let me try.” Keith tossed back the last his drink and offered a half-smile. “Sometimes a fresh perspective will turn up things you never expected.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Ulaz kept the pair at the bar in his sights as he danced through the throng. He didn’t dare dance close enough to listen in on that conversation, because if he did, he’d surely be made. Thace hadn’t any proof that this jacket causing all the trouble had any drugs or other contraband hidden in its pockets, but the mere fact that it seemed to have assaults following in its wake was reason enough for him to put an undercover officer on the situation. Ulaz maintained a look that allowed him to rub elbows with the downtown crowd without attracting undue suspicion, but there was no way he could lock eyes with Jeff Kogane’s son and not be recognized instantly. He’d babysat the boy many times back in the days when he’d been a young EMT in his home borough of Queens. It would not be an understatement to say that what happened to the Kogane family had influenced his decision to go back to school in order to pursue a career in criminal justice.

Ulaz watched as the two got up from the bar, and followed discreetly as they left the club together. He paced them as they walked to a four door sedan parked too close to a fire hydrant. Griffin must have put too much trust in the painted curb, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten a ticket. Either a miracle, or Sergeant Thace. Actually, it was probably Thace. Ulaz memorized the BMW’s license plate number as they drove away.

Garden State vanity plates read GRIFF 1. Ulaz did not have jurisdiction to follow them across state lines. He’d report in with what he’d observed and trust that Thace knew how to proceed from there. Meanwhile, he might make a few independent inquiries and see if he could find out where Keith had been staying in the city. Just because he rarely asked didn't mean he didn't need help.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sendak was afraid he’d have to mill around for hours sitting through two magic shows while trying to make bar food last as long as possible before he got his shot at cornering Throk’s doxy. Much to his deliverance, the omega was released from his duties early and off he trotted, not even bothering to change back into street clothes first. He even still wore one of the earrings, partially hidden by the wig, but Sendak had recognized it immediately. The other one must be in one of the lion jacket’s pockets. If it wasn’t, Sendak anticipated little trouble in getting the location out of the omega. He knew all sorts of persuasive methods.

Sendak followed the young man out into the summer evening. The omega’s pert little rear end in that velvet catsuit thing he had on bounced along rhythmically as he set out for wherever he was calling home since bouncing on Throk. The sky far above began to glow like flame as the street lamps slowly turned on. Tall buildings cast very long shadows around them. If the omega would just get off the avenue and duck into a one way street away from the majority of the pedestrian traffic, then Sendak could seize his chance. Anticipation made his strides grow longer.

“Come on, kid,” he whispered. “You know you wanna take a shortcut.”

The omega walking briskly ahead was an easy target to keep track of, thanks to that candy apple red wig and the big green lion on the back of his jacket. It seemed he was walking even more briskly now, long legs eating up the sidewalk. Now he was running. Damn it, Sendak had been made! The omega darted into a parking garage. Sendak ran after him.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
At first Red thought that he was just being paranoid. Sure, it was starting to get dark and he was in a big city that he didn’t remember clearly, but this city was laid out in a convenient grid pattern and he knew how to get back to Shiro and safety. But he also knew that he wasn’t imagining the clomp clomp of shoes on the pavement behind him. They were keeping pace with the jingle bell chime of the rings in Red’s inner jacket pocket. He made a point of looking in windows as he walked past them, and he caught a glimpse of the guy behind him. He was huge, and the look on his face was one of intense focus.

Shiro had told him that a guy had been hassling him when he’d found him the previous day. But that guy had run off, right? How likely was it that this was the same guy? Red picked up his pace. The guy behind him picked up his pace too. Whether this was the same guy or not, he was definitely following Red.

He needed help. He wasn’t the only pedestrian on the sidewalk, but the crowd he’d joined after leaving Oriande had thinned out considerably and the few people remaining all walked quickly with their heads down, no chance of making eye contact and little chance they’d be able to offer much help if the man following him was carrying a weapon. Up ahead Red could see loading zones, and that generally meant shops. It wasn’t very late in the evening yet, so some of them could still be open. Then Red spotted a parking garage. At this hour of the night they might have security around.

Red took the chance and started running, feet pinching in the pointy-toed booties Sniv had made him wear on stage. Oh, how he wished he’d at least put the the floppy-soled sneakers back on. He heard feet pounding the pavement behind him, a counterpoint to his own breath quickening. Heart thumping, he turned left off the sidewalk and ran up the ramp into semidarkness. He spotted the automated turnstiles and ducked under them adroitly enough to add evidence to his theory that he’d played some kind of sport. Since entry was automated, security must be at the exit, unless they just relied on cameras or a barrier to discourage people from trying to park and dash.

The parking garage didn’t take up its entire corner, so the exit couldn’t be on a cross street. It must be on the opposite side of the block. Red dared to zag right and zig left to get into a parallel aisle, slowing him down a little but giving him the advantage of not being directly ahead of the big scary guy when he inevitably came barreling in behind him. Sure enough, he heard the slap of the guy’s shoes on the concrete and knew if he looked over his left shoulder he’d be able to spot him between building support columns. He put on a fresh burst of speed. Up ahead he saw the red sign warning drivers to stop for the attendant. Hallelujah, jogging to the right had put him in the correct lane!

On the side of the parking attendant’s kiosk was a little door that said ‘authorized personnel only.’ Hoping that the attendant hadn’t bothered to lock it, Red pounced on it and was relieved when the door knob turned open and let him into a tiny little cubicle with a big window and security cameras on the walls. The attendant, who had been watching porn on his laptop instead of the security cameras, turned to him in surprise.

“Your presence is not unwelcome, but I have nothing to pay you with, my dear,” said the attendant, and it took Red a moment to realize that the reason it sounded different in his mind was because the beta was speaking Spanish.

“I’m not your relief, I’m a magician’s assistant,” Red replied to the attendant in Spanish. “There’s a weirdo following me. Please, can I hide in here?”

“Alright then.” The attendant, whose jacket unfortunately only confirmed the name of the parking company and not of the attendant himself, pointed under the computerized register mounted at the plexiglass window. “Hide down there and the weirdo should not see you.”

Red could have peed, he was so relieved. He hunkered down underneath the register and suddenly found himself eye to crotch with the attendant, and it occurred to him that maybe he’d just gone from one weirdo to another. But then he heard a deep gravelly voice at the window that made the hair under his wig stand on end.

“Did you seen a male omega run past here? He had on a red wig and a jacket with a green lion on the back.”

Yeah, that was the weirdo Red really needed to be worried about right that minute.

“No sir,” said the attendant in English, “I have not seen any gato come through here.”

“Okay.”

Red heard footsteps moving away and felt the fear begin to fade. Then the kiosk’s door was abruptly flung open and there was the damn scary weirdo, and Red and the horny attendant were stuck in there with him like sardines in a can.

“Why didn’t you lock the door?” Red screamed in Spanish.

“Why didn’t you?” screamed the attendant back as he jammed the panic button on his register.

“Shut up!” screamed the scary weirdo in English. “I only need the omega!” Then he brandished a knife and moved in on both of them, trying to pin the attendant in the corner so that he could drag Red out from under the register. Red instinctively put his hands up to protect his face, which made them useful handles for the scary weirdo to grab onto.

Police sirens wailed from somewhere nearby, and as the scary weirdo yanked Red out of the kiosk it seemed that they were getting closer. Scary weirdo hauled Red toward the exit, but before they could reach the sidewalk it was blocked by a squad car with the cherries twirling. He maneuvered Red back in the other direction, but even as he did so they could both hear sirens moving around the block, aiming to cut them off on the other side of the building. Scary weirdo was never going to beat them there while dragging along Red’s dead weight, so with a shout of frustration he threw Red to the concrete and took off running.

As Red sat up, someone shined a flashlight in his eyes. “That your pimp?” he heard.

“No,” he said, “I’ve never seen him before in my li– ” He suddenly flashed on a memory of the scary weirdo saying _‘Hi there, Red’_ and he was no longer certain of that answer. “I can’t remember exactly.”

“Must be a john,” said a second voice behind a flashlight. “Put him in the back of the car and we’ll sort it out at the station.”

Red was picked up off the ground, upon which the officers heard the rings clinking in his jacket’s inner pocket and made him take them out and explain them. Committed to taking him in regardless of that explanation, they placed him in the back of a squad car that was already occupied by a beta woman in thigh high stiletto boots and a high wrapped ponytail which was probably an extension because that hair color wasn’t any more natural than Red’s wig.

“What do you use the rings for,” asked Red’s colorfully-attired seatmate as the car pulled away from the curb.

“Magic,” Red sighed.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“What are you hoping to find in here?”

The stranger’s alpha – James – crowded Keith as he let himself into the master bedroom of the house they shared in New Jersey. Most of the house had just an occasional pop of bright color to break up the monotony of light neutrals, but this bedroom leaned into the beige. It leaned hard. Light beige walls. Dark beige bed linens. Blond wood floors.

“Evidence,” Keith replied as he picked up a bottle of cologne on the medium beige dresser. Calvin Klein Eternity, nice. Keith gave himself a spritz.

“Evidence of what?” James seemed like a type A kind of a person. Even his brooding was uptight. “I already told you there’s no chance that Lance was a willing participant in whatever you saw with the gorilla guy.”

_Evidence of a sex life_ , was what Keith was thinking, but he what he said was, “If the moped beefcake was Lance’s boyfriend, then he probably wrote about it in his diary.” He looked over his shoulder at the flustered alpha hovering behind him. “He kept a diary, right?” Keith had stayed in a few upper middle class homes growing up. Many of those people kept diaries, and some of them were quite the salacious read.

“I don’t know,” James said. “I guess?”

Keith would not let that half-assed answer deter him. The ride over had begun with Keith honestly complimenting James on his car. It was a nice ride and much better kept than most people – even well off people – would bother. James had proceeded to speechify at him for several long minutes about his dealership and all the great quality vehicles he had available to sell for great deals, and if this was the quality of communication the stranger named Lance had to deal with on a regular basis, then it was no wonder if he had a secret beefcake boyfriend in the city. James was very good looking, but he had the air of someone who’d been told he was good looking all of his life and now took it for granted that people would let him slide on that long enough for him to get over.

“Which side of the bed is his?”

James pointed to the side closer to the patio door. “That one.”

Keith dropped his behind down on the dark beige coverlet and bounced there for a second before reaching in the top drawer of the night stand to confirm a suspicion. Yep. It was an intimates drawer. Inside he found underwear, mostly plain white cotton but also a few in different shades of blue, and one lacy number that was fire engine red. He plucked up the red one and tossed it behind him on the bed. There was a bottle of scented massage oil. He set it aside.

“What are you doing?” James watched with wide eyes.

“Finding things.” Keith lifted out a stack of books, setting them down on the bedspread one by one. “ _The Secret_. _Positive Affirmations_. _The Little Book of Sex_.” Keith flipped through the last title. Maybe he’d find a way to keep that one.

“So, some of his reading material is on the vulgar side,” James said. “That hardly means he’s been sleeping around.”

Captain Obvious was missing the bigger picture. His spouse was showing signs of an unfulfilled need. In Keith’s experience, if a need couldn’t be filled or sublimated, then it would eventually force a person into situations that they wouldn’t have otherwise gone looking for. There wasn’t anymore reading material in the intimates drawer. Keith hopped off of the overstuffed mattress and moseyed over to the walk-in closet.

He rifled through the racks, checking shoe boxes below and shelves above. Somebody owned a hell of a lot of khaki suits. Lance had a few nice pieces sprinkled in there as well, and not all of them were boring. Keith found a red bolero jacket stuffed far in the back. It had the factory starched creases and potpourri closet smell of something purchased in a moment of feverish inspiration and then never worn, left to languish in the closet for months. He took it off its hanger and tried it on, checking it out in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.

“Why are you trying that on?” James leaned in the closet doorway.

“I’m rescuing it from closet purgatory,” Keith said. “Lance owes me a jacket. I’ll take this one, since he obviously never wears it.” It looked awesome with his new boots.

“How can you tell that?”

Keith leveled him with a challenging look. “Have you ever seen him wear it?”

James dropped the argument, thereby proving Keith was right. Keith brushed past him and headed into the attached bathroom. Here were more of those little bits of bright color – a hot pink towel here, a framed picture of a tropical plant there. The plethora of beauty products in the frosted glass shower, on the tub ledge and beside the sink all pointed toward this being a shared space where Lance felt more free to exert his own personality. Keith knelt to look under the sink and in the vanity’s drawers. He didn’t find any vibrators or other marital aids.

“What are you looking for now?” James stood over him with his arms crossed.

“Stuff he’d use to relax.” Maybe Lance didn’t look for orgasms to alleviate his tension, which would point less toward secret boyfriend and more toward maybe a dealer. “Does he use mood elevators?”

“What, like cannabis?” James’s eyes shifted back and forth. “Sometimes. When I can talk him into it. His parents were kind of strict.”

Interesting. Keith would not have taken James for the type, but people were always capable of springing surprises. “Wanna toke?”

James’s eyes shifted back over to focus on Keith with a considering look. Oh, yeah. He definitely did.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Red was saved from being booked when one of the booking officers recognized him from the magic show because he’d attended it before his shift started. Red’s luck held even further when it turned out the booking officer had also happened to notice the scary weirdo at the bar and was able to provide a description backing up the accounts provided by Red and the parking attendant (whose name turned out to be Mar). So instead of being arraigned, Red was taken into a noisy room full of cubicles to give his witness statement to another officer. Red provided as much information as he could remember, including the fact that the scary weirdo had come after him once before but he couldn’t remember that incident clearly on account of a bonk on the head. He chose not to mention to the officer that he may have known the scary weirdo before his amnesia, wary because of what Shiro had told him. Maybe he had nothing to do with the dead man in Atlantic City (he sure hoped that was the case) but it seemed like a bad idea to implicate himself when he just didn’t know.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“...and if I couldn’t join the Air Force and become a fighter pilot, then I was gonna be the best damn used car salesman I could be, you know?”

“Yup.” Smoking blunts made James even more chatty than the alcohol had. While James recounted his oral history, Keith had found a framed picture in the living room and was looking it over. For what, he didn’t know exactly. He was guessing it was a honeymoon picture based on the dreamy smiles and the tropical setting. James had been sporting a tan nearly deep enough to match Lance’s natural skin tone as they stood together on white sands in front of a Caribbean blue ocean at sunset, both of them just grinning away without a clue of what lay in store for them.

“And Sparks, he got so mad at me he left town, but then I met Lance and he got it, he got why it was so important to me to respect my dad. He got me, you know? But now Sparks is back and he says he’s sorry, and I can’t, I just don’t know what to do now.”

“Yup.” This kind of shit was why Keith was never getting married.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sparks paced his postage stamp sized living room. Five paces from one end to the other, regardless of which direction he picked. It was small, but it was fairly private and easily affordable with his alimony settlement. Not private enough to use as a love nest, unfortunately. There was no nosy neighbor like the kind who’d been a regular at Grandmother’s bridge parties back in the day, and this was just one of the reasons Sparks had wanted to escape this place back when he was young enough to believe that love was a magic carpet ride. These days he and James usually had to go out of town, or resort to necking in the car like they had in their randy teenage years.

If that little simp who’d warmed his spot for him would just get a clue and get out of his way, they could have a whole house to neck in. Sparks had insinuated himself into every part of James’s life, left his scent all over everything, and even done everything he could to sabotage the other guy’s birthday, what more did he need to do to reclaim his proper place, get pregnant? This wasn’t part of the life plan he’d envisioned for himself at seventeen. He and James were supposed to leave their hometown together on a grand adventure, but James had to go and ruin the plan by caving to his father. Sparks had then left town alone thinking that James would chase him, and then he could talk him around to chasing after his dreams. Instead, James had settled in and settled down with a placeholder version of his former flame, so Sparks had hooked himself a lawyer from old money, figuring if he had to settle then he’d settle well.

If James could stand living in boredom, then so could Sparks; at least Sparks would live in luxurious boredom. But he could never put James completely out of his mind, so when he’d caught Richard cheating with his secretary, he’d gotten himself a divorce, and a rather nicer settlement than he’d told James. He didn’t really need to work if he lived frugally. He’d taken everything he’d learned as the wronged spouse and applied it toward getting James back, and it seemed to be having the desired effect. However, James had pulled a disappearing act at work and he hadn’t even warned Sparks first, which was very unlike him. Could he actually be thinking of trying to repair his marriage to that twit?

The nervous worry tied Sparks’s gut in knots until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He stopped pacing and called James’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. Was he on ignore? Fuck caution, then. He called James’s home line.

_“Yeah?”_

The young male voice belonged to neither James nor the twit. For a split second Sparks assumed he’d gotten the wrong number, until he heard, _“I’m king of the world!”_ in the background and recognized James’s voice.

“Who are you?” Sparks demanded.

_“Who are you?”_ parroted the young man. He was rude as hell.

“I’m Sparks.” Take that. “Answer my question.”

Instead, the young mystery man laughed and hung up on him.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
After giving his statement, the police officer had asked Red to look through mugshots to see if any faces looked familiar. Red lingered over the photos carefully, not wanting to implicate anybody just because they might bear a slight resemblance to the scary weirdo. However, he kept returning to a mugshot of a thick-necked man practically snarling at the camera. He was younger in the picture, his dark hair worn in a longer style, but add about a dozen years and give that curtain cut an undercut, and it could be him.

“What did he do?” Red finally asked, tapping a fingertip to the photo.

“He was accused of assault and battery but never prosecuted,” said Officer Ozar. “Does he look familiar to you?”

“If he was older than this picture then it could be him,” Red admitted.

Officer Ozar thanked Red for his time and assistance and then advised him that he couldn’t let him leave without an escort. “The suspect is still at large and seems to have taken a particular interest in you. Is there someone we can call to pick you up?”

As it so happened, there was.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sergeant Thace reviewed reports that had crossed his desk that day submitted by officers under his watch. Some would need to be filed, others would need guidance on how to proceed, and there was always a chance that some of the reports would turn out to be related to one another in some unexpected way. Today was one of those days when reports collided. The officer working on the mall case got a probable facial recognition match on their mystery alpha assailant. Yurak Sendak, booked multiple times but never convicted. There were some redacted items in those older reports, indicating that the Feds might have an open file on him.

Then there was a fresh assault and battery case turned in that very evening involving multiple witnesses, one of whom had been attacked on two different occasions. Yurak Sendak’s old mugshot had been fingered by that witness. The witness was described as a Latino male omega, early twenties, blue eyes, approximately five foot ten, maybe a buck fifty. Answered to Red, witness statement to be treated with discretion due to self-professed case of amnesia. Where had Thace read a description similar to that one recently? His eyes widened and he picked up his office phone.

_“Yes sir?”_

“Ozar, is the witness named Red still with you? I’d like to speak with him.”

_“I’m sorry sir, he already left with his boyfriend’s brother. I have the brother’s contact information if you’d like me to call him back in.”_

“No need to recall him at this time Ozar, but I would appreciate the contact information. Just relay that to me and then I’ll check in on him later.”

Perhaps Thace’s intuition had taken the wrong track. It happened sometimes in police work. He would follow up on it, though. It never hurt to be thorough.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“I’m sorry,” Red said for– Shiro had lost track of how many times he’d said it at this point. “I’m still going to find a way to pay you back, now that I’ve got a job.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro said, again. “Hunk made chicken sliders with zucchini chips for family meal tonight. I saved you some. They’re just as good cold as warm.”

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that Red’s story about how he lost the one hundred dollar bill caused him a moment’s dismay. It implied that Red might have sticky fingers, which was a habit to strike fear in the hearts of many a small business owner. Still, his resourcefulness in finding gainful employment in less than twenty-four hours while still suffering from amnesia was impressive, and his determination to help felt real. Besides, Shiro had lost half of his stuff already, and the bodega owner’s account might not represent the whole story. He was willing to extend Red the benefit of the doubt. In complete honesty, he was also just relieved that Red hadn’t cut out on him like he’d worried might have happened when he didn’t show up before dinner.

Red thanked Shiro for the umpteenth time and disappeared into the bedroom alcove to change into something less titillating. Shiro went to the fridge to take out the leftovers and a couple of beers and try not to think too hard about what Red was wearing. It was worse than what he’d left in as far as Shiro keeping his libido in check was concerned. Red had on some kind of a cosplay wig with a lilac-colored velvet thing that clung to his lean body in all the right places, and boots strapped to his trim ankles with multiple buckles. It was like a mashup of several different sexy Halloween costumes, and it shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it was working for Shiro, leaving him to conclude that it was Red himself who made that silly outfit appealing.

Shiro set the food and drinks down on the floor, thinking they could make a picnic of it if Red wasn’t feeling too sore from getting knocked ass over teakettle. Thinking of asses made him wonder what that velvety costume would feel like under his– no, bad Shiro. He slapped his right hand, the one that had suffered a boxer’s fracture during his foreshortened career as a prize fighter, back when both he and Ryou had been experimenting with whether they were going to strike out on their own or take over the theater from Dad. It had eventually come to pass that Ryou’s music career had more legs, but Shiro hadn’t broken his metacarpal in the ring, he’d always wrapped carefully for that. He’d broken it in the fight he got into when somebody’s goon jumped him for not throwing a match. His right pinky knuckle had never been the same after that, and occasionally still plagued him with uncomfortable tingling relieved only by the compression glove.

Maybe Red could do with a massage to relieve his soreness. No, bad Shiro! His cell phone distracted him from any further untoward thoughts. He unclipped it from his belt holster and paced to the other side of the living room to take the call.

“Shirogane here.”

_"Mister Takashi Shirogane?”_ The man said his name with the careful over-enunciation of someone who wasn’t sure if he was pronouncing it right.

“Speaking,” Shiro confirmed.

_“I’m Sergeant Thace,”_ said the caller. _“I’m sorry to bother you this late. I just wanted to check and make sure that Red got home safely.”_

That was awfully solicitous of a man who surely had a lot of requests on his time and attention. Shiro’s bullshit detector went on yellow alert. “He’s fine. Did you need to speak to him again? I can call him to the phone.”

_“No, I’m glad he’s alright,”_ said Sergeant Thace. _“Actually, I was hoping to speak with you, if you can spare a moment.”_

“I’m not sure what I can add to the witness statement,” Shiro said warily. “I wasn’t there.”

_“Red told Officer Ozar that he was previously accosted near Greeley Square Park. The report indicates that you saw some of this prior incident before the assailant fled the scene.”_

Beep beep, red alert, red alert. “I only saw the tail end of it.” If Red came under suspicion over the Atlantic City thing because Shiro didn’t know how to dodge a loaded question, Ryou would trounce him, and rightfully so.

_“There may have been another male omega assaulted on the same day, in the same neighborhood by the same individual. The omega’s name is Lance McClain Griffin, and he’s five foot ten, approximately one hundred and fifty pounds, brown hair, blue eyes, tan complexion. Is it possible that you saw him too? I’m asking because he’s gone missing since that day.”_

Shiro looked over his shoulder at the closed shoji screen, behind which an omega who matched that description to a T was changing clothes. “I... I don’t know.”

_“If you do happen to recall something then I would appreciate you giving me a call and letting me know.”_

“I– of course, of course I will.”

Shiro stored the Sergeant’s contact information in his phone and then sat down heavily on the futon, mind awhirl with information that might mean both his liberation and yet more trouble. If the omega currently getting dressed in his bedroom alcove was Lance, then that meant Shiro hadn’t been lusting after his brother’s guy after all. But if the omega on the other side of the shoji screen was actually Lance, then that also meant– 

“Ryou’s gonna kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read that early drafts of the screenplay that would become Desperately Seeking Susan were written as an inversion of Rebecca. You can still see that in places in the movie, including the Easter Eggs of Roberta actually watching Rebecca in an early scene, and the name of Gary's mistress. Thinking of that was what inspired where I went with Sparks, who is kind of an amalgamation of Vehicle Voltron characters and Becky, who was mostly a background presence in Desperately Seeking Susan.


	4. Borderline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith puts some pieces together and everybody goes to a show. It's a night of revelations, surprises and decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who reads, kudos and comments. :) You are all appreciated.

Keith entertained himself in James’s living room while James went to work with a weed hangover. The furniture was all in creams and greys, except for one big overstuffed ottoman in royal blue. Keith kicked his feet up on it while he clicked through channels on the big screen TV with one hand and fed himself snacks with the other. The Griffins didn’t keep any of his favorites in the cupboards. The closest thing they had was Bugles, and he had to pick through the bag looking for any with a wide enough cone to load onto his fingertips, which would not have been an issue with a bag of Lotte’s. Still, they delivered that sweet and salty corn crunch he craved, so they’d do.

The Griffins had cable in their suburban paradise. The choices for mindless watching were endless. This was not necessarily ideal. Keith was about ready to give up channel surfing and switch to streaming, when a newscast captured his attention and he ceased his clicking.

_“ – just learned that the late Alexander Throk was the lead suspect in the theft of the Ptolemaic earrings from the Metropolitan Museum less than a week ago. However, the jewelry was not recovered with the discovery of his body, leading investigators to conclude that he may have entrusted the stolen earrings to an accomplice. Persons of interest in the case include a young male omega who may have been the last person to see him alive, as well as several known associates who are being actively sought by law enforcement.”_

The news anchor’s earnest face was replaced by two pictures. One was a composite drawing of Keith himself which hardly looked anything like him. Praise be to bad CCTV and his much-missed hat. Maybe Keith ought to go back to the master bedroom’s closet and pick out one of Lance’s hats to replace it.

The other picture was a close up shot of a very familiar looking pair of earrings.

“No fucking way.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
James jogged up the back steps of his house intent on grabbing some lunch and checking on Keith’s progress. Keith was supposed to be searching for clues to the secret life he was convinced that Lance had been hiding, but James had a feeling he might still be lounging on the living room couch while extravagantly sampling his larder, which was how James had left him that morning. Since Keith had come over straight from the club and Lance may or may not currently be in possession of most of his wardrobe, James had reluctantly given him permission to wear anything he wanted from his and Lance’s chore clothes drawer. He’d been distracted at work all morning worrying about what might be going on at the house, the stress exacerbated by Sparks alternately sniping at him and ignoring him. He should have never hired his first love to work for him. Regrets, he had a few.

The kitchen smelled mouthwateringly delicious when James walked in. The oven timer dinged. He looked in and found the batch of brownies Lance had frozen in a Pyrex pan, and they looked ready to come out, so he turned off the oven. Keith was nowhere in sight. If James hadn’t lucked upon the brownies right at that moment they would have surely burned. He searched around for oven mitts, didn’t see any, and lightly seared his fingers taking the brownie pan out of the oven with kitchen towels.

Irritated, James stalked down the hall towards the master bedroom. “Keith!” He found Keith laying across his bed with a book in his hands and his feet up on James’s own pillow. Goddamn it. “You could have burned the house down!”

Keith rolled over, grinning. He was wearing Lance’s old high school sweat pants with one of James’s old high school jerseys, blithely oblivious to the fact that the Tigers and the Bruins had been sports rivals. James had played football, while Lance had played softball, so technically they’d never faced off as rivals, though James was positive that he’d cheered the Bruins at a few home games where Lance had played, and he suspected the reverse was also true.

“I found the diary,” Keith announced. “He hollowed out _The Secret_ and hid it in there, I can’t believe I missed that when I checked it yesterday. It’s so obvious it’s almost genius. You should read some of this stuff.”

“If it doesn’t lead us to finding Lance then I’ll pass,” James said. Lance respected James’s privacy and that’s why they’d been able to dance politely around the fact of his affair for so long. The least James could do was return the favor.

“I ate the whole car,” Keith read, completely ignoring James’s advice. “Do cars like cake? The world may never know, because now there’s none left to share with either my car or my shark.” He glanced up from the book. “Are you sure Lance doesn’t do drugs?”

“I’m positive.” James decided to take a load off in the barrel chair next to the window. “I doubt you’re going to find anything in that diary more scandalous than him demolishing his entire birthday cake alone.”

“Alone? Yowch.” Keith made a face. “Well I did find something. He’s been stalking me and my boyfriend through Missed Connections.”

“What?” James sat upright in the chair. “Stalking?”

“Yeah, listen to this.” Keith shifted onto his side as he recited from the diary. “Kuro posted for Red to meet him at the Moon Walk in Jackson Square for Valentine’s Day. I wonder how they’ll observe the day of love? Will they take a steamboat ride up the Mississippi, or a streetcar to the Museum of Art? Maybe they’ll get beignets and café au lait at Café du Monde. Maybe they’ll even blow the powdered sugar off and make a wish for their next rendezvous.” Keith looked up again. “I wonder what he’d think if he found out we just crashed a bunch of weddings and then went back to the hotel to fuck like minks.”

James relaxed. “Jeez, you made it sound like he was sending you creepy notes or something.”

“Or something,” Keith said, annoyed. “This explains why he’s got my stuff. He’s been watching me and Ryou like a K-drama.”

“He was trying to do the right thing by you when he disappeared,” James reminded him.

“Yeah, that wound up biting him in the ass.” Keith sat up straight and leveled him with a serious look. “That guy who chased him in the park probably thought he was me.”

“Who are you?”

James and Keith both looked up at the third voice who’d entered the bedroom. James felt a jolt of alarm.

“Sparks, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Sparks stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. “Who is this guy in your bed? Your bed, which you share with the twit but you won’t even share with me?”

James felt his temper begin to simmer. “I am still married to that twit, and you should know better than anyone that some lines shouldn’t be crossed.” When he’d decided that he was going to embark on an extramarital affair, he’d also decided that he would at least do Lance the courtesy of not cheating on him in the bed they slept in together. He’d have thought that Sparks, having ended his own marriage after finding his husband in bed with another, would have respected that choice.

Keith, meanwhile, just sat there grinning again and basically being no help at all.

“Are you serious?” Sparks was starting to get those red spots on his cheeks and forehead like he used to get in high school every time they were about to have a real knockdown drag out. “He’s sitting there in your bed while wearing your shirt! Unless you’ve become a bigamist, you’ve managed to hurdle right over that line!”

Sparks strode across the room to stand over James, who jumped out of the chair to equalize their positions. “He’s helping me find Lance, and I really don’t need this from you right now.”

“Oh yeah?” Sparks didn’t back off. “Were you hoping to find Lance under a pillow? Maybe he and the shark ran away together! Did you check all the pillowcases? They might have left you a ‘thanks for the memories’ note!”

James looked sideways to tell Keith he could join this discussion at any time to clear things up, only to find that Keith had slipped off the bed and out of the room while James had been distracted by Sparks getting in his face. Or maybe not all the way out of the room. James met Sparks’s angry eyes again as they both heard the shower turn on.

“You always make me use the guest room shower,” Sparks said accusingly.

“For fuck’s sake!”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith had learned during his years in foster care that it was better to be out of sight and out of mind during a domestic dispute. Even when the dispute was as entertaining to watch as that one was, it could get ugly in a hot second. So he removed himself from the immediate vicinity by locking himself in the bathroom. He’d been too busy enjoying the house’s snacking opportunities to take a shower earlier, but he was ready to rectify that now. The Griffins had a Sephora counter’s worth of bath goodies in there – not the super high end stuff, but still better than anything Keith could afford. It made one of Matt’s Duane Reade hauls look like a group home toiletry allotment by comparison.

The bathroom steamed up and soon smelled sweet from soft lather as Keith showered and ruminated. So that was James’s bit on the side. Keith recognized his face from the high school yearbook James kept on his coffee table so that he could reminisce on his days of being a star athlete. As head of the cheer squad, first position on the bowling team and a member of the homecoming court, D. “Sparks” Sparke was all over that yearbook. He was one of those people who’d been an exquisite beauty as a teenager, before peak bone mass arrived to graft on adult features that were merely attractive. Sparks still carried himself with the physical confidence of the stunner he’d been in his glory, maybe even still visualized himself that way to some extent.

He seemed to have confidence that his high school claim on James was still valid, and perhaps he was right. James made a good show of being worried about his missing spouse now, but if he found Lance safe and sound and was able to get away with it, he’d probably go on canoodling with Sparks on the side like he was doing before all of this happened. If James thought Sparks was going to leave it at that though, then he was in for a rude awakening. That guy was in it to win it. Keith read Sparks as self-absorbed but cunning, and he had evidently decided that he was going to be the next Mr. James Griffin, for whatever reason. Nothing about this situation was selling Keith on the idea of marriage as a positive endgame for romance.

The wedding part was fun, but why did people feel like there had to be a bunch of melodrama after the party? Keith hopped out of the shower and dried off with a fluffy towel before slathering on some of the current Mr. James Griffin’s face creams and deodorizing products. He towel dried his hair and rubbed some styling creme through it. The clothes he’d arrived in were probably about ready to come out of the dryer. Keith’s clothes had never known such pampering as an all-in-one washer dryer with a steam function could provide. He wondered if Sparks would lose more of his shit if he left this bathroom wearing James’s t-shirt again or just a bathrobe.

He tabled that decision for another minute so that he could check his phone for messages. Never go anywhere without the cell phone, even if it was just to the bathroom. Those were words to live by. There was a brand new chat thread waiting for him on messenger, initiated by Romelle. She’d pinged over a picture with a caption: S _niv’s latest victim_.

**Matholomew:** _Poor fucker. He alrite tho?_

**Romulady:** _Yah. Name’s Red. Cute but kinda goofy._

**Pigeon:** _whats kinda goofy is he has same nickname as keith but seem like his opposite._

Keith couldn’t believe what he was looking at. What were the odds? Because he recognized that face, caught deer in the headlights style by Romelle’s cell phone camera, even with that wig obscuring most of his forehead. He’d been looking at that face in pictures all over this house for hours now.

He recognized that earring the other Red had on, too.

“About time I caught a lucky break.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Shiro busied himself making coffee while Red (or was it Lance?) took a shower. Shiro had cleaned the machine more carefully this time, so hopefully the coffee wouldn’t require as much leavening as the previous day. They were having a repeat of leftovers for breakfast, but this time it was chicken enchiladas which Shiro had frozen from a family meal he’d missed a couple of weeks ago. He and Adam had a huge fight that night, and had both stormed out of the building in full ‘you’re not leaving, I’m leaving’ fits of pique. It had been neither their first fight nor their last, but its magnitude of intensity had been a harbinger, which Shiro could now see with 20/20 hindsight vision. Hunk had taken pity on Shiro and gifted him a few cooking implements from the Grille’s kitchen, with a warning that the pans were developing hot spots and would still need to be replaced soon.

Shiro had decided to hold his peace on whether Red was Lance or not. Sure he matched the description for Lance, but he also matched Ryou’s description of Red, and his presence in some of the same places Red was known to frequent didn’t feel like a coincidence. So either he was Red, or he’d be able to tell Shiro where the real Red was when his memory came back. Both were valid reasons for keeping him close.

Shiro was still trying to ignore his other reasons for wanting Red close. The double surname on an omega male usually meant he was married, and the fact that Red’s neck was unmarked didn’t mean he was unmarried. Most modern couples waited until after the birth of their first child to trade claim bites. Shiro was starting to sense that no matter what confirmation he received he was bound to get a sinking feeling out of it, so he pushed it away from his conscious thoughts and concentrated on getting breakfast ready.

From his holster, his cell phone rang out an electric guitar riff, and Shiro had to laugh. Ryou’s timing had always been perfect for trouble. Like that time in high school when he’d actually attended woodshop class for once, and walked in at just the right moment to witness Shiro being dared to face an oncoming handheld circular saw without flinching; and far from trying to talk Shiro out of it, decided that he was going to do it too. They’d stood side by side and wound up with matching nose scars on account of the bad choices of everybody in that room, including: the doofuses who’d raised the dare and incompetently wielded the circular saws, the absent teacher, the bystanders who took bets instead of calling the principal, and last but certainly not least the twins themselves. Their father had been so furious with them. The rose of youth had sprung a few thorns that day.

They’d been damn lucky that scars were their only souvenirs from that particular fiasco. Shiro was still smile-wincing over that memory as he turned off the oven and meandered over to lean on the wall beside the shoji screens before taking Ryou’s call. This way he was in prime position to spot Red coming out of the shower but not so close that he’d be easily overheard. He wanted to ask Ryou something but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

“Hey.”

_“I’ve been operating on the assumption that no news is good news, but I can’t stand it anymore. How is he? Please tell me everything’s fine and I’m worrying over nothing.”_

“There’s been a weirdo following him around– ”

_“What?!”_

“–but he’s fine.” As far as Shiro knew.

_“Thank fuck.”_ Ryou sounded like a man who’d just missed losing an eye to a circular saw. _“If anything happened to him, I don’t know... I just don’t know.”_

“Yeah. You weren’t kidding when you said he was something else.” Shiro shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “Hey, listen. If he was more upset than he let on, would there be some way to tell through his scent?”

“Not really,” said Ryou. “He smells cool as nemunoki even in situations that would make most people break out in flop sweat.”

Shiro didn’t really think Red smelled like nemunoki, but interpretations of an individual’s scent could vary by quite a bit, especially when romantic feelings were involved. So he couldn’t read that as unequivocal proof that his Red was really Lance. It wasn’t the smoking gun.

_“Our gig at the festival’s over, maybe I should come on down there and just make sure...”_ Ryou paused. _“No, I’d probably just scare him off.”_

“No, you should come on down,” Shiro said. “You can blame it all on me if you want to, say I was nervous about this whole weirdo thing and convinced you to do it. He’s got two shows at Oriande tonight, you could probably make it in time for the second one. We could go together.”

_“He’s working at Oriande again?”_

Again? “Yeah, he’s the magician’s assistant.”

_“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought they’d take him back after he swiped all those smokes while he was working there as the cigarette boy, but maybe his old buddy Matt was able to talk them into giving him a second chance.”_

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Whatever nice product Adam had been using to make his hair look so good had been removed from this bathroom. All that he’d left behind were a bottle of 2-in-1 conditioning shampoo and a bar of Castile soap. He hadn’t even left a loofah, so Red exfoliated using one of the wash rags from his hatbox. It was odd how he’d been carrying around a full set of hotel quality bath towels but no toiletries aside from a packet of cleansing wipes. Maybe he did have a permanent address somewhere and he just didn’t remember. But if he did, then why wouldn’t his boyfriend have mentioned that place to Shiro so that he could take him home?

Not mentioning such a place was as good as keeping it a secret from an amnesiac (if such a place existed, Red still wasn’t convinced of that theory). Shiro seemed like the kind of attentive alpha who might lie by omission if he thought it would help him ensure the safety of someone else by, let’s say, keeping them close enough to unobtrusively guard. Red smiled as he raised his face to the shower spray while scrubbing his hair. In spite of his concerns, Shiro’s attention felt really, really nice. Then he frowned as he turned to rinse out the conditioning shampoo. Why hadn’t he personally heard from Ryou yet?

Shiro had mentioned multiple times that Red was reputed to be gun-shy about relationships. That Ryou had stuck around for as long as he had suggested that he possessed perseverance, and the fact that he’d send his own brother to look out for Red implied dedication, but why did it take such a hands-off form? Red had experienced no discomfort with having company around him. Quite the contrary, actually. What manner of memories were waiting for him to rediscover? If they’d turned him into a lone wolf by choice then Red wasn’t sure if he wanted them all back.

Red got dressed in the clothes that he’d been wearing when he arrived at Shiro’s apartment, but he wore the booties from his costume instead of his white and blue sneakers. He was going to have to tote the costume back to get changed at Oriande, which should be easy enough by rolling the wig and bodysuit up in a towel, but the shoes would be kind of awkward to carry. After the previous night’s events, Red was all about simplifying foot travel as much as possible. Shiro had breakfast set out as a picnic on the floor when Red finally emerged. He sank down next to him and accepted a cup of coffee, which tasted much better than the previous day’s brew.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Shiro bit his lip, which was incredibly distracting of him. How was Red supposed to properly focus on aiming food and drink at his own mouth when Shiro’s mouth was commanding his attention? “Ryou’s coming into town tonight. We’ll probably be in the audience at your second show.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Red supposed a reunion with Ryou was in the cards sooner or later, though he’d hoped he would remember their relationship before that happened. He felt that boding sense before something unforgettable occurs, like the pressure change before a thunderstorm. Unforgettable for most people, anyway. “Um, he does know that I still have amnesia, right?”

“Ah...” Pink spots appeared high on Shiro’s cheekbones. “Would you believe in all the excitement I forgot to mention it? I promise I’ll make sure he’s aware of it before you speak to him.”

“Thank you.”

Shiro was like a knight in shining armor. May his crops flourish, his skin be ever clear, and his lip be forever bite-worthy.

“Hey, I ought to thank you too.”

“Really?” Red used his spork to cut and scoop a bite of enchilada. Sporks were underappreciated utensils, really. “How come?”

“For keeping your promise and not smoking in the apartment.” Shiro blew on a hot bite of enchilada, once more making a distracting spectacle of himself and causing Red to accidentally scorch the roof of his mouth when he forgot to blow on his own bite. “I’ve lived around smokers before, so I know that can’t have been easy for you, but I really appreciate it.”

Red cooled his mouth with tap water as he thought over what Shiro had just said. “You know something?” he said, when his mouth finally stopped burning. “I haven’t been tempted to smoke even once. I’ve had no cravings at all. Hey, maybe amnesia is a good way to quit smoking.”

Shiro stared at him for a long moment with a sort of gobsmacked expression on his face. “Maybe you’re onto something,” he finally said.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
The cops were looking for him. They hadn’t said so in the newscast, but Sendak could read between the lines. Plus he felt it, like a persistent itch on the back of his neck. He’d avoided real jail time for years by heeding that feeling. It would be unwise go home now, and even more inadvisable to let his target go to ground. He’d needed to reconnoiter at a place where management was too bored, busy, or broke to look at his face too carefully, and he found it at a budget hotel in Hell’s Kitchen.

That wasn’t all he’d found. Sendak smiled as he unwrapped the package he’d picked up from a runner in the nearest subway station. The convenience factor had cost him more than the weapon was worth, but his contact had delivered. The .38 revolver wasn’t the flashiest choice to tell Throk’s trollop he meant business, but it could sure as hell get the job done.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“This may be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” Curtis Sparke was annoyed with his older brother beyond the telling of it. “I should turn this car around and tell Mom on you.”

“Just stay two cars behind him and he won’t notice you.”

Sparks had his eye on the prize to the exclusion of all else, as usual. Sometimes that approach netted him trophies, like the shelves full he’d won throughout his school career, even after presentation had resulted in their parents discouraging him from risking his face in contact sports. He’d had to switch to non-contact sports, and he’d crushed them, but high school legends about The Big Game were rarely centered around competitions where the players never came in direct contact with one another. Sometimes Curtis wondered if their parents had allowed Sparks to pursue high school glory on his own terms, would he have still developed such an all-encompassing fascination for their school’s star quarterback. He really wondered.

Other times big brother’s dogged pursuits resulted in Curtis getting roped into ridiculous bullshit because he was both alpha and younger, making him the perfect foil for Sparks to harangue into escorting him on reconnaissance for whatever flight had caught his fancy. Curtis wasn’t on board with his brother’s current flight of fancy, for various reasons. If he and James had truly been meant to be, then they wouldn’t have married other people. But there was no talking Sparks out of a scheme once he had his target acquired, so Curtis figured if he was present then at least he could do damage control.

“I don’t see how he could possibly fail to notice me.” Nevertheless, Curtis eased his grey Jetta into slow lane traffic two cars back and adjacent to the BMW ahead. The night was alive with street lamps, glowing billboards and tail lights “I bought this car from him.”

“Cripes Curtis, do you have any idea how many cars he sells in a given day? People come in from all over the tri-county area.” Sparks chewed on his lower lip, eyes on the driver’s window of the sedan cruising ahead in the fast lane. “Anyway, it’s night time. He won’t notice.”

Curtis supposed Sparks might be right about that. In addition to the silhouettes of his boisterous sister and her date tucked into the back seat, James Griffin also had a diversion in the passenger’s seat next to him. When they slowed down at a toll plaza and the guy turned his head to look out the window, he revealed a heart-stoppingly beautiful face, and if that was his competition then no wonder Sparks was worried. That guy had to be easily the prettiest male omega Curtis had ever seen. Maybe even prettier than Sparks had been back in high school, although Curtis didn’t think he was the most unbiased judge in that regard, on account of the Westermarck effect. One thing he could judge without bias was visual confirmation that the pretty omega riding shotgun was not the one James had married.

This evening could turn out to be more excitement than Curtis had bargained for. He was going to need an aspirin after this, he could feel it already.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Back to relive the magic?”

Ulaz smiled at the lovely blonde hostess as he handed over the cover charge to get into Oriande. “I enjoy a good optical illusion.”

He’d attended the earlier show and ascertained that the blonde bombshell would take first shift in greeting guests and collecting cover charges. Then the emcee with the weaselly look about him would relieve her so that she could take the first round of orders from the table-seated customers. She’d relieve him again, long enough for him to introduce the magic act which was this dive’s excuse for a cover charge. Then he’d go behind the bar to help make drinks while she went back to working the tables. It would be pretty easy for someone to sneak in free at that point. This place needed more staff but perhaps they couldn’t afford the overhead.

Ulaz decided this time he wouldn’t hold down a table. The bar had a less obstructed view of the entire room, so he strolled over there and ordered an Old Fashioned from the old woman his preliminary research told him was the owner of the establishment. She nodded at him and began mixing the drink with the simple competence of someone who’d been doing this long enough not to care about flash. Ulaz knew from the previous show that his drink would taste good, even though watching it being made was quite mundane. Perhaps she didn’t want to offer any showmanship competition with her headliner.

According to Ulaz’s sources, Keith had worked in this place a couple of years back. Keith’s current roommate had worked here as recently as two days ago, and now an omega who might be Lance McClain Griffin worked here. After seeing the earlier show, Ulaz believed that was indeed McClain Griffin, though he had not reported his suspicion to Thace just yet. The alpha believed to be Yurak Sendak had not attended the earlier show, but Ulaz knew he’d show up and it would probably be soon. He wanted to be there when it happened, because sooner or later Sendak would realize that he really ought to be looking for Keith.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Hey stranger.” Romelle grinned big when Keith rolled up looking righteous in his freshly clean and pressed clubbing outfit, now accessorized by the red bolero jacket and a straw boater hat donated by Lance (unbeknownst to him yet). “Who’s this?”

She was referring to Keith’s current entourage, which included an overstrung James Griffin, his sister who seemed pretty cool, and his sister’s new girlfriend who was magnificently chill.

“New friends,” Keith said, knowing that Romelle would catch the hint that these new friends might become ‘in the rear-view mirror friends’ depending on how the night’s events played out.

“Welcome, new friends,” Romelle said. “That’ll be twenty bucks, please.”

Five bucks per head. Zandra still had one of the cheapest cover charges in town. She made most of her profits off the drinks and smokes. Keith had wondered on the drive over if James might be one of the types to complain and push for a friends discount, but he didn’t, just forked over the twenty, and they headed inside.

“I’m still not sure why you brought us here,” James grumbled as they went through the beaded curtain. “How is this getting us closer to finding Lance?”

“You’ll see when the show starts,” Keith promised him, aiming for a table close to the stage. The payoff for the cover charge was showing up in time to snag one of those tables. The band was already playing though, so showtime was nigh.

“This place gets a good crowd for a weekday,” Nadia observed as they took seats around the table.

“It’s cheaper than many of the other shows,” said Ina, accepting the seat Nadia pulled out for her.

“Good point,” Nadia replied. “Plus, they bring alcohol to your seat, which most theaters don’t. Or could that be a minus?”

“The concessions are equally bad for your teeth in any type of venue,” Ina said serenely, “so it’s a draw.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“I can’t believe this,” Ryou said as the elderly bartender brought over the two glasses of draft beer Shiro had ordered for them. “He has amnesia and you couldn’t have told me this on the phone the day before yesterday?”

“It’s been a weird couple of days,” Shiro said, sipping his beer. “I really thought he was going to recover his memory before you got back.”

By the time he realized the problem was persistent, the factor of whether Red was actually Red had reared its head. Then Shiro had incentive to avoid mentioning it until he could fix it. Now here he was confessing when he might be moments away from discovering that he'd picked up the wrong Red. So the ‘fix it on his own’ plan obviously hadn’t worked out too great for him. At least there were libations to soften the blow.

“Well he’s been around your face for the past couple of days, so it isn’t any wonder he’s still foggy.”

Shiro frowned at his brother. “I have the same face you have.”

“Yeah, and it’s probably weirding him out, ‘cause you’re all you.” Ryou pointed at Shiro, which: rude. “You’re like a crotchety old man. Anybody who knows me and meets you would have to be confused.”

“How dare you.” Shiro sat tall on the bar stool. “I am a fucking ray of sunshine.”

Then Ryou giggled into his beer and Shiro realized with mild embarrassment that he’d been had. Only his twin could drag this level of childish ire out of him so easily. Well, his twin and occasionally Adam, but Adam wouldn’t have been joking.

“Sorry,” Ryou snorted, “I just love how your face turns all red when you get irate, and then your eyelashes bristle.” He sang, “Maybe it’s Maybelline, maybe it’s incandescent rage!”

“I can’t believe I’m sitting here tolerating this,” Shiro sighed as he lifted his glass to his lips.

“Seriously, though.” Ryou managed to get over himself enough to put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Thanks for looking after my guy.”

“Yeah, of course.” Oh, how Shiro wished he could accept that thanks at face value. “I’ll always try to help the best I can.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Keith thought he saw a familiar head of bi-colored hair at the bar, but the joint was getting crowded and the owner of that hair sat down, so he wasn’t sure. He craned his neck trying to see around people who couldn’t stay at their own damn tables and had to mingle with each other. Since when did Oriande attract a capacity crowd?

“Here we are.” Romelle arrived with their drinks on a bar tray balanced over her cigarette tray. “We’ve got a gin and tonic on the rocks,” that was for Ina, who didn’t want to stain her teeth, “a glass of our house red,” that was for Nadia, who must not have been worried about her teeth, “a Cuban Manhattan,” for James, who still had no clue what he was about to witness but it would now be extra amusing to Keith when he figured it out, “and a Wet Martini.” That last was for Keith himself.

Keith smiled at Romelle. He’d make sure James gave her a good tip. “You guys sure are busy tonight, huh?”

“It’s thanks to the donut patrol.” Grinning, she leaned down to speak closer to his ear. “Coran’s new assistant got arrested by accident last night and the word of mouth spread from there. I’ve made more tips today than I did all of last week. This keeps up, Zandra will have to hire more crew.”

“By accident?” Keith laughed. “How?”

“Because he’s a goofball,” Romelle said. “You’ll see. Oh!” She lifted a slot on her cigarette tray and took out a now familiar piece of heavy gold. “Our favorite goofy ginger dropped this off for you a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks Romelle.”

“No worries.” She winked and sashayed off to serve more drinks and sell more cigarettes. 

Keith put on the jewelry he’d asked Matt to run by for him. He wasn’t sure if Lance had gotten a good look at him that time he’d apparently followed him to the Swap Shop. A lot of people only noticed his jacket, which was kind of why he’d kept it for so long even though it didn’t have as much red and black as he usually liked. He also wasn’t sure if Lance would make the connection as to his identity even if he saw him sitting with his own friends and family while wearing his clothes. He might just assume James had picked himself up a new manstress. After all, Sparks was pretty bold about helping himself to James’s life, Lance would have to be willfully oblivious not have noticed something was going on there. But if Keith wore the earring that was the mate to the one Lance was wearing, there was no way he wouldn’t figure out that Red and Keith were one and the same.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Red was checking his makeup one last time when Coran knocked on the dressing room door.

“Three minutes til show time, m’boy,” he said with his typical good cheer.

“I’m ready,” Red called back. He rose from the vanity and stepped out of the dressing room.

Coran had waited for him. “You rather look like a rock star, I must say.”

Red felt unaccountably queasy. “A rock star?” Those words were so familiar in an uncomfortable way, and he didn’t know why, but the memory felt teasingly close this time.

“Yes, like Ziggy Stardust, but with a tan.” Coran patted Red on the shoulder. “Are you suffering a bout of stage fright? I keep a bottle of malört in the dressing room to kick it in the teeth, I’ll share a nip if you like.”

“That’s alright.” Red put on a smile. “It always passes once I’m on stage.” This was more or less true, at least in terms of the stage fright. He wasn’t so sure about the memory, though. He had a feeling like that one was going to stick around and grow hooks.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sendak slipped in and snagged a high top at the back of the room where he tried to keep his head down. There were a hell of a lot of cops in the place tonight; none in uniform, but he knew what to look for. Then Galahad showed up with a twin brother in tow. Sendak knew he couldn’t risk a direct confrontation until he could get the tramp known as Red all by his lonesome. He ordered a hand rolled and a highball so the cocktail waitress would leave him alone for a while, and he scanned the crowd. An opportunity to get his lucre back would present itself. He just had to be ready.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“...Coran the Magnificent and his fabulous famulus, Red! Give them a hand, gentlefolk!”

“Finally,” James griped, then, “wait a minute, aren’t you Red?”

Keith grinned at him like he had the best secret ever. “Sometimes.”

On his other side, Nadia gripped James’s shoulder hard enough to kind of hurt. “James, look at the stage.”

“What?” But James looked. And looked. Blinked his eyes and looked again.

Yep, that was still Lance, transferring live doves into a cage while dressed like a bawdy velvet fantasy.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“How tacky.” Sparks put down his glass of pinot grigio so he could fold his arms. He glared up at the stage.

Curtis sipped his Sidecar. “I don’t know, if you imagine the horn then it kind of looks like that unicorn costume you wore last Halloween.”

“That was supposed to be tacky!”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“That’s not Red.” Ryou stared at the stage, where Red was helping Coran the Magnificent turn a cage full of doves into mice.

“You sure?” Shiro felt a sense of pause, like a big reset button was about to be pressed on his understanding of things. “Stage lights and makeup can make people look different.”

Ryou turned a deadpan look on him. “I would know Keith anywhere.”

Shiro nodded and sighed. “Then he must be Lance.” Deep down, he’d known the second he got off the phone with Sergeant Thace.

Ryou was starting to look worried. “Who is Lance?”

“He’s the omega who was wearing the lion jacket when I went to Greeley Square Park,” Shiro said. “Or at least, I think that must be him. When I met him I assumed he was Red because he matched the description you gave me. I don’t know what he was doing there or how he knows Keith, and he doesn’t remember enough to explain it to me. The only reason I even know his name might be Lance is because of the weirdo who’s been following him around.”

“Shiro.” Ryou leaned forward, eyes intense. “What if the weirdo is the stranger?”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Doves had been turned into mice, scarves into flowers, and rings had been magically linked. The crowd was eating it up. Red’s confidence had returned by the time they got to the levitating beauty trick. This big number was saved for a full house, thus saving Coran from having to visit every table to do the pan trick. They’d practiced this one again since the last show and Red felt sure he could do it convincingly. All he really had to do was lie down and then not fall, Coran was handling most of the mechanics.

With a dramatic flourish, Coran helped Red recline gracefully on the velour-draped table. He then flipped up the velour on the side of the table nearest the audience so that it looked like Red was resting under a blanket. Coran swaggered around to the other side of the table and flipped up the other side of the velour, making sure he was standing in front of the hydraulic lift so that the audience couldn’t see it behind his legs. Playing to the crowd, he raised his hands as at the same time he tamped one foot down on the hidden lever to the lift. The table rose, and the audience gasped.

Romelle stepped up on stage carrying a large hoop which she handed off to Coran, stopping him a moment to whisper something in his ear. Coran nodded at her before proceeding to pass the hoop back and forth over Red’s body. The hydraulic lift was specially shaped to accommodate the hoop so that with a little sleight of hand Coran could make it look like he was passing the hoop completely over Red and back, when in fact he was twisting it through an S curve. The audience applauded. Then Coran did something unexpected.

“Would anyone in the audience like to come up here and verify that this young man is floating in mid-air?”

This had not been part of the previous show and had only been discussed in rehearsal. If anyone did come up on stage they’d see the cleverly hidden mechanicals making this perspective illusion work. Coran had told Red that he’d used audience participation with this trick in days past, but only when he had a ringer sitting among them, and Oriande hadn’t had enough staff to carry that off for quite some time. The spectators clamored for the right to examine the trick up close.

“You, there,” Coran said to someone who must be sitting close to the stage based on the angle of his gaze. “Come on up! What do people call you, dear boy?”

“It’s a funny thing,” said a young male voice that gave Red instead déjà vu, “people call me Red, too!”

“Is that a fact?” Coran spread his arms to gesture over Red’s prone body, as he didn’t dare step away and reveal the hydraulic arm. “Examine as you please, my dear.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Then suddenly there was a beautiful face hovering above Red’s, so strangely familiar it produced an uncanny sensation, like being in an elevator. The other Red smiled and tucked black hair behind one ear, the better to let the stage lights glint off an earring that was the match to the one Red was wearing.

“Hiya,” said other Red.

_It’s you_ , Red/Lance thought, before he felt the pull of his memories whirring back to life.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“That’s Keith.” Ryou leaned on Shiro in relief. “Thank the sweet baby Jesus.”

Shiro breathed an inner sigh of relief too. Maybe this could still turn out alright.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“They know each other?” Sparks growled. “They’re conspiring to get my man!”

Curtis didn’t bother mentioning that James technically was no longer his man. They’d been down that road before, and it was a road to nowhere. “Why would they work together if they both want him for themselves?”

“Because!” Sparks had to think on that one for a second. “Maybe they’re into threesomes!”

Curtis leaned on the table wishing he could order another drink, but he was driving. “If they were interested in a polyamorous arrangement, don’t you think they would have approached you at some point to negotiate where you fit into that instead of carrying on in secret?”

“Don’t try to distract me by playing the voice of reason.” Sparks leaned back in his chair, recalcitrant. “This an elaborate plot to keep James away from me, but it won’t work.”

Curtis facepalmed.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sendak couldn’t believe his eyes. There were two of them. Two male omegas named Red with dark wavy hair, and each of them wore one of the priceless relics dangling from one ear. Oh, what a trick Throk had played on him. The deception burned in his gut alongside all of that alcohol drunk on an empty stomach. Throk must be laughing in his grave.

Sendak would have the last laugh. One of the omegas lay helpless on a levitating table, and the other should be easy enough to catch, now that Sendak had seen his memorable face. With the glitter of gold and red jewels dazzling his dry, twitching eyes, Sendak left his seat and lurched in the direction of the stage.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Ulaz spotted Yurak Sendak halfway across the floor, weaving between tables, his destination clear.

“Stop!”

Some people looked up, but the noise dampening effects of so many warm bodies close together and talking to each other kept his voice from carrying very far. Ulaz abandoned his spot at the bar and went after him.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Shiro and Ryou both looked up at the shout. An edgy looking dude with geometric shapes shaved into the sides of his high fade hustled past them, looking to head off– 

“Holy shit, I think it’s him.” Shiro pointed at the big alpha closing in on the stage. “That’s the weirdo!”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance wanted to apologize to Red for accidentally stealing his stuff, but before he could get one word out he spotted an unfortunately familiar face looming over Red’s shoulder.

“Look out!” he screamed.

Red had some fucking amazing reflexes. He twisted and rolled and was out of reach of the scary weirdo in a heartbeat. He was already running backstage while Lance was still trying to sit up. “He wants the earrings!” Red yelled over his shoulder before he disappeared out of sight.

“It’s alright, I’ll catch up to your friend.” Scary Weirdo’s breath was sour from alcohol as he grabbed Lance around the chest. “I’ll just deal with you first.” Then he was scrabbling under Lance’s wig with one hand trying to close a fist around the earring. Holy fuck what if he tried to rip it right out of his earlobe?

“Just let me take it off myself, okay?” he whimpered.

“Unhand that young man!” Coran threw the hoop over the scary weirdo’s head and shoulders, and used the leverage to pull him off of Lance.

Scary Weirdo staggered back, but then he shrugged the hoop off of him like the Incredible Hulk ripping out of his shirt. “Stay out of this, Schmendrick!”

Lance, meanwhile, was removing the earring as fast as his shaking fingers could manage.

“Freeze!”

Everybody on stage looked down into the audience, some of whom had run for the door, others of whom were still sitting there in dumbfounded fascination. Maybe they thought the magic act came with a side of dinner theater. Boy would they have a story to take home with them tonight. Standing tall amid them was a man with a mohawk fade and a gun trained on the scary weirdo.

“This is the police!” said Mohawk Fade. “Get down on the ground, keep your hands where I can see them!”

None of the people who obeyed that command was the scary weirdo. Instead, the scary weirdo snatched the earring out of Lance’s hand (he couldn’t get down on the ground so he’d collapsed back down on the table with his hands held forward). Then Scary Weirdo ran backstage, no doubt in hot pursuit of Red. Lance heard the mohawk-haired police officer curse and run past him. Then he was being turned and lifted in strong arms, much more gently than the way the scary weirdo had manhandled him. He smelled dry woody cypress, fresh as lemonade on the back porch.

“I’m not Red,” Lance said as he looked up into Shiro’s concerned eyes.

“I know,” Shiro said.

“You do?”

Shiro nodded. “I figured it out after talking to my brother.”

“I’m Lance.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Lance,” Shiro said, eyes soft and lips turned up at the edges.

“I knew it!”

Lance looked down at the shout, and who should be there to add the surreal cherry to his bizarre experience sundae but Sparks, standing up from his table with his hands clenched at his sides. Curtis Sparke sat on the other side of the table looking like he wished he was anywhere else.

“You can divorce him now, James,” said Sparks. “He’s an adulterer. I mean, just look at him, cavorting in that man’s arms.”

And how about that, there was James at another table, along with Nadia and the dentist, all of them staring in various states of curiosity. They must have somehow tracked him down after he went missing and then, what, decided why not stay for the show? What in the frilly heck was going on here?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Shiro, “no cavorting has taken place, okay?” He looked down at Lance earnestly. “I would never want to threaten anything that’s important to you.”

“You are not to blame for any of this.” Lance smiled and boldly reached up to caress his cheek. “I really do need to talk to him. But I don’t want to lose track of you.”

Shiro pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You know where to find me.” Then he reluctantly let him go.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
When Shiro had pointed out that he recognized the big alpha rushing the stage, Ryou had been right on his heels giving chase; but when Keith ducked out of the alpha’s grasp and ran backstage, Ryou peeled off after him instead. He caught a flash of that red bolero jacket and followed it to the stairs leading up to the old mezzanine, which had been used for VIP customers back in the days when this nightclub had featured dancing to live music. Ever since Zandra had gone all in on the magic show, the upstairs area had been used only by the staff. For somebody who claimed only a passing interest in the place, Keith had learned a lot about it while he’d worked here and he’d liked telling stories about it. That’s why Ryou knew he was probably headed for the old VIP lounge, a holdover from the speakeasy days which Zandra had left largely intact as a potential panic room and a private retreat of sorts.

Keith would probably feel secure there because it was behind a hidden door. Ryou went straight to the vintage soda machine, looked around to make sure he was alone, and then opened it and went in. Keith stood up from the Naugahyde couch as Ryou entered the room. The door disguised as a soda machine fell shut behind him.

“Are you alright?” Ryou always felt like a tightrope walker whenever he dared to express concern for Keith.

“It’s been a weird couple of days.” Keith walked toward him slowly.

Ryou waited, patiently. “My brother just said the same thing.”

“Sorry I didn’t call him.” Keith stepped into his arms.

Ryou searched his lovely face. “You’re not beholden to do that just because I suggested it.”

Keith smiled. “I know, but it would have made you feel better, wouldn’t it?”

Ryou couldn’t deny it.

“So I’m sorry,” Keith said. One small apology for man, one giant shift in the relationship for two men. “Wanna kiss and make up?”

Ryou needed no further invitation.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Sendak took the stairs two at the time. The other Red’s scent was strong here, a delicate scent like mimosa, but overlaid with an even subtler woody scent which might be perfume, or possibly a second individual following close behind. Some dynamics left scent trails which were harder to track, and if this was indeed another person, whoever it was had muddied the path, because the omega’s scent dissipated entirely on the second floor. Still huffing deeply in hopes of picking up the scent again, Sendak stalked up and down the mezzanine, peering into its warren of rooms. The employee restroom, supply closet and dressing room were all empty. The fire escape leading out of the dressing room held no trace of the omega or his scent.

There was an office which was locked. When he pressed his ear against the door, Sendak heard the sort of thick silence which might have a person hiding in it. He was debating forcing his way in when he heard a clatter on the stairs. Adrenaline cleared the haze of alcohol like a charcoal capsule to the bloodstream. Thinking quickly, he sneaked into the supply closet and left the door cracked open just a hair. The owner of the feet he’d heard rushed past the supply closet and knocked on the door to the office.

“This is the police, is anyone in there?” It was that cop who’d tried to arrest him downstairs.

Sendak heard the office door creak open, and an older woman’s voice reply, “Me and my grandson are in here. Someone just tested the doorknob.”

“Lock the door and call 911,” said the cop. “I’ll check the other rooms.”

The feet rushed past the closet and Sendak heard the door of the employee restroom fall open with a thud. That restroom had only two stalls and it wouldn’t take the cop long to ensure that there was nobody in there. He’d be back to check the closet eventually. Sendak had to move. Quietly he left the closet and shut the door softly behind him, then he tiptoed over to the dressing room. He’d didn’t want to leave without the other earring, but this room at least had an exit just in case.

The dressing room had a long vanity, a wall of cubbies, a folding changing screen and a rolling rack full of brightly colorful costumes and wigs. The vanity was too narrow to hide under, and the changing screen was too obvious a hiding place. Sendak ducked down behind the rolling rack and pulled it closer to him, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Someone came into the dressing room, someone with a lighter step than the cop and a scent like sugar cookies.

“Madame, you ought not to come up here.” There was the cop.

“I just wanted to get my things and make sure Keith’s alright.” It was the cocktail waitress. She was right on the other side of the rolling rack.

“You should go back downstairs until I’ve cleared this floor. Believe me, I want to find Keith safe just as much as you do.”

“Right then. Just let me get my purse, and we can check on him together.” Shuffling noises ensued.

“You know where he is?”

“Sure do.” A slim hand appeared right over Sendak’s head and unwrapped a strap from around the rack’s top bar, then disappeared again. “Let’s go, officer.”

“It’s Detective.” There was a pause that just felt awkward, even to Sendak. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Detective.”

Could this Keith she referred to be the other Red? Sendak crept out from behind the rolling rack and sidled up to the dressing room door. Cautiously, he peered around the frame. The old soft drink machine he’d walked past three times was pushed sideways into the hall. Light flowed out from what had to be a hidden room on the other side.

“Keith, I can’t believe you!” The cocktail waitress’s voice carried quite well. “Get a room!”

“We already have one,” came a sassy voice from farther within, then, less sassily, “Ulaz?”

“Keith,” said the cop. “I am relieved to see that you’re alright. Nevertheless, I had hoped that the last time I changed your diaper would be the last time I’d be seeing certain parts of you again. And who is this?”

“This is my boyfriend, Ryou.”

“It’s very good to meet you, sir.”

The boyfriend sounded embarrassed. If he was as possessive as most alphas, he’d stick close to Keith. Sendak would have to utilize the element of surprise when he approached them. He reached behind him for the cold metal hidden at the small of his back. Perhaps the time was right for him to utilize that too.

“I am glad to meet you as well, though I had hoped such a meeting would be in a situation less... informal. Yurak Sendak is still at large– ”

He knew Sendak’s name?!

“He probably went out the fire escape,” the cocktail waitress interrupted.

“That is a reasonable assumption,” said the cop. “However, it would still be best to go downstairs where there is safety in numbers and a greater number of accessible exits. Backup should be arriving soon to ensure your protection.”

So they thought he was in the wind, did they? The fact that they knew his name felt like a spur in his side. He definitely could not go home, he didn’t even know where he could run, as it wouldn’t be just the police looking for him now. But the other earring was still within his reach, and if he had them both then he’d have some leverage. In addition to that, the detective’s neglectful search of the dressing room and accidental revelation of the secret room gave Sendak hiding places, and a potential exit plan that didn’t involve turning himself in. Sendak would wait, watch, and when he picked his moment he wouldn’t lose.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“Amnesia.” James couldn’t seem to stop saying it. He’d said it so many times now that the word was starting to sound like nonsense. “You had amnesia, so you stayed with a complete stranger for two days?”

“He thought he knew me,” Lance repeated for the millionth time as he trudged up the stairs to the mezzanine. Coran had stayed behind to entertain the audience members who hadn’t already run off, and keep them calm while the police took statements. Lance had a statement of his own waiting, but they’d given him permission to go upstairs and get changed into street clothes first, probably because James was there agitating to take him home and it was starting to get on everybody’s nerves. Lance took it as an opportunity to get James alone to talk, but the thing was, James was already talking, and continued talking the whole way upstairs.

“So you just trusted him.”

This possessive behavior was confusing to Lance. Wasn’t this the same man who couldn’t be bothered to keep track of Lance’s whereabouts most days of the week because he was too busy shagging his assistant? Lance turned on the stairs to look down into his pinched face.

“I didn’t have any reason not to trust him, and he never gave me a reason to doubt that I’d made the right choice.”

James, to his credit, looked sorry, but he didn’t say anything, just made a face and hung his head. Lance turned around and continued up the stairs. Momentarily he heard James’s steps behind him. As he approached the old soda machine, he thought it looked kind of crooked against the wall, like someone had shoved it trying to get a free soda. Which was weird, because that soda machine hadn’t had any soft drinks in it for decades probably. He didn’t think of it again as he continued toward the dressing room, because James was once more right on his ass.

“Get dressed,” he said, “because we’re going straight home.”

“I still have to talk to the police,” Lance reminded him, temper creeping into his tone, because James was being presumptuous as hell.

“They can take your statement over the phone.” James proceeded to stand over Lance as he rustled through the garments in his designated cubby in the dressing room. “Are those even your clothes?”

“Some of them are Keith’s,” Lance admitted, and he set those aside in an empty cubby. Keith would no doubt want them back.

“Well, he helped himself to your wardrobe, so you should probably feel free to take any of his,” was James’s reply.

Lance had no intention of doing that. “I should have enough of my own clothes to wear out of here if I want to.” He didn’t think Keith owned a whole lot of clothes, so he didn’t begrudge him the boater hat and bolero jacket. It wasn’t like he’d been wearing them that often anyway. Though he kind of wished that he could keep the rock star jacket. He’d grown attached to it.

“What do you mean if you want to?”

Lance threw his outfit over the chair in front of the vanity and looked into James’s incredulous face. “I have a job here that I’d like to keep if they’ll have me.”

“If they’ll– you– this place is clear across the Hudson, and it’s a night job! You’ll never be home for dinner!”

“I know,” Lance said. Over James’s shoulder he spotted Sparks headed across the mezzanine with a face like thunder. He must have just been released from giving his own statement, and he probably felt threatened because Lance was taking off his clothes while alone in a room with James when they were both still fully awake. Lance stepped around James to slam the door and lock it. Then he leaned back against the door, arms crossed as he faced his husband. “Why do you want me to come home?”

“Because we’re married.” James stood over him like that was going to convince him.

“Try again,” Lance said. “You’re in love with the hellcat on the other side of this door. So why do you want me to come home?”

“Lance.” James ran his hands up the sides of Lance’s arms, and damn it, why did he have to be so tall and handsome and smell so nice? “I do care about you.”

“I care about you too.” Lance allowed the touch and the eye contact. Dark blue-grey, like rain-filled clouds. Beautiful eyes. He’d always thought so, and still did even now. “But I think we both know you love him more.”

James leaned his forehead against the door, his hair tickling the side of Lance’s face. “I’ve tried to give him up. I don’t know why I can’t just let him go.”

Lance turned his head to meet one dark eye. “Maybe it’s not him you should be letting go.”

James crushed him in his arms, and Lance returned the fierce embrace. Whatever else had happened, they’d been important to each other. Saying goodbye didn’t change that. James leaned back and kissed him once, twice, then gave him a surprisingly teary smile before reaching past him to unlock the door. Lance stood aside and let him go.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
When the cop and the cocktail waitress left the secret room, the other Red and his boyfriend did not follow. Sendak waited until their footsteps receded and then he took his chance and went straight into the secret room, pulling the soft drink machine door closed behind him. The other Red – Keith – and his boyfriend were too distracted with trying to straighten each other’s clothes to notice immediately that he was not a friend. When Keith glanced over his boyfriend’s shoulder and saw Sendak standing there with the gun, the look of dawning horror on his face was quite satisfying to behold. The boyfriend (it was Galahad’s twin, which raised all sorts of questions in Sendak’s mind) looked over his shoulder, saw the gun, and tried to shield Keith with his body. As if that would really be effective at such close range.

“You know what I want,” Sendak said.

Keith looked defiant, but he nodded that he understood, and he drew up his hands to reach for the earring he was still wearing.

“Slowly,” Sendak said. “Carefully.” One never knew where an opponent might be hiding a weapon, and that omega had a lot of hair.

Slowly and carefully, Keith began to take off the precious earring, which had gotten tangled in his hair due to his ill-timed tryst. While he was doing that, the muffled sounds of two people having a subdued argument passed by the room. Sendak put a finger to his lips to warn his captives to remain silent. More footsteps rushed by on the mezzanine as Keith freed the earring from his hair and began to work the long hook out of his earlobe. This employee-only floor of a small business seemed busier than Grand Central all of the sudden.

Finally, Keith freed the earring, right as the couple returned from what had to the dressing room.

_“...you kiss him?”_

_“It was a kiss goodbye.”_

_“I’m going to cut up all of his clothes with scissors when we get home.”_

_“No you’re not, you’re going...”_

Finally the voices faded off. Keith stepped around his boyfriend’s tall frame to hand the earring to Sendak, arm outstretched. Instead of grabbing the earring, Sendak grabbed that arm and reeled him in. Galahad’s twin made a heroic lunge for him, but Sendak was quick to jab the muzzle of the revolver under Keith’s pretty chin.

“If you like his face attached to his skull, you will not move from that spot for ten minutes.”

The boyfriend watched in mute alarm as Sendak dragged Keith out of the secret room. Someone should probably tell the boyfriend that his fly was undone, but that someone wasn’t going to be Sendak.

“What are you doing?” Keith was certainly a cheeky little bastard, it was little wonder that he’d turned Throk’s head. Throk had always favored the mouthy ones. “I gave you what you wanted.”

“And you still are,” Sendak said as he hustled them both towards the dressing room. “I might require a hostage, and you’ll do nicely.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance changed out of his costume and into the clothes he’d worn when this wild trip had all started. It looked like he was going to have to take Keith’s battered black high tops after all, because his own sneakers were still in Shiro’s apartment. He could hardly believe it was only two days ago, it felt like months had passed. His whole life was about to change. His marriage was breaking up. Ay Dios, what would his parents say? His grandparents?

He tried to think of the positives. He wouldn’t have to see Sparks ever again unless he ran into him by complete accident, which was a major plus. He had a job. Okay, that counted as more of a maybe than a definite after tonight’s misadventure, so more of a potential plus. He could see Shiro again and now they both knew who he was. Would Shiro even want to see him again?

Lance would have sold his car right then for another flask of Wild Turkey. Coran said he kept booze in the dressing room somewhere. Lance had never actually seen Coran in the dressing room. Romelle had mentioned once that he liked to come in a couple of hours before anyone else, so maybe he had a cubby. Lance went to the open shelves set against the wall adjacent to the door and started poking through them. A lot of them seemed to hold overflow from Romelle’s outfits, and a couple of them he knew belonged to former employees who’d abandoned their positions.

Lance spotted a smoking jacket folded in one cubby and pulled it down. Underneath of it, a pipe and a bottle with amber liquid in it rested on top of a pile of more folded clothes. Lance tilted up the bottle to read the label. Jackpot: it was the malört. The bottle was only about a third full. Must be good stuff.

Lance unscrewed the cap and took a whiff, and got a bouquet of pickled apples. That couldn’t be bad, right? Lance liked pickles and he liked apples. Put ‘em together and fuck it Lance was ready to lighten his personal load, this stuff could smell like feet and he’d still try it with the mood he was in. He took the bottle to his head and _woo_ that stuff had some kick to it. Lance licked his lips and ay de mí, the aftertaste was obscene and his hair might actually be on fire.

He stood there with puckered lips as he tried to decide whether he dared toss back another shot’s worth. This drink had the sort of flavor that made a person want another taste just to see if it was really that bad, casting the same sort of maddening spell as Diet Cherry Chocolate Dr. Pepper. He took another taste. Badness confirmed, holy fuck, it tasted like marinated gym socks. He screwed the cap back on in an effort to protect himself from his own gross impulses. Except now he really wanted to try it one more time, just to be extra sure.

While he was trying to make this monumental decision, the door was flung open and Keith was shoved through it, falling forward over a chair and tumbling to the floor. He rolled onto his side and looked up at Lance with pained eyes. A shadow fell over Keith and Lance suddenly knew a much better use for that bottle of malört. He held it in a batting stance, and when none other than the scary weirdo breached the doorway, he brought it around. It hit scary weirdo upside the temple with a resounding smack. Keith crab-walked out of the way as the scary weirdo fell over like timber.

Keith looked up with a shaky smile and said “Thanks, stranger,” before another guy burst into the room and trampled over the scary weirdo like a bear rug to get to him. This guy had to be Shiro’s twin, otherwise that face was a miracle on top of a stack of coincidences. He hauled Keith up onto his feet and checked him over with a surprisingly delicate hand for such a big, tough looking fellow. “I’m okay,” Keith said, before nestling into his arms, and the pose finally reminded Lance that this was Kuro, otherwise known as Ryou. Sometime between that first sighting at the park and now, Lance had begun to think first of Shiro whenever looking upon those features.

Ryou glanced over at Lance standing there, did a double take, and grinned. “Hey, it’s Grey Poupon!”

“I am not a condiment,” Lance said, pointing at him. “The name’s Lance.” He thought about it for a second. “I’m Lance McClain.”

It was probably going to be his last name again very soon and for a while after that, so he better get used to saying it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of omegaverse is not quite as dystopian as I usually do. I just didn't think some of the plot elements would still work if I didn't lighten up a little on that part.


	5. Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many endings lead to new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always for reading and kudos! You are all wonderful. :)

  
The scary weirdo known as Yurak Sendak was carried out under armed guard while police officers on scene took Lance’s initial statement, along with Keith’s and Ryou’s. Shiro had already given his. Once it came out that Lance and Keith had been in possession of the earrings stolen by Sendak and the dead man named Alexander Throk, and how they’d come to be in possession of those earrings, members of the NYPD’s special fraud squad showed up to secure the jewelry and they also wanted to interview Keith at further length at the station. To say Keith was displeased to have to go with them was an understatement, but the officer with the mohawk fade, whose name was Ulaz, promised Keith that he would accompany him. Ryou insisted on also going along. Shiro spoke quietly to his brother and then approached Lance.

“I have to call Keith’s lawyer and wait for him at the station,” Shiro said, looking really regretful about it. “He’ll need to be caught up on everything that’s happened before he goes in there.”

“I understand,” Lance said, and he did. This was Shiro’s family. Lance knew how important that was.

“Keith wanted you to have this.” Shiro handed a bundle of cloth over to Lance. It was the lion jacket. “He says it’s yours now, for as long as you need it.”

“Wow.” Lance took it from Shiro’s hands. “Is he sure?”

“To hear Ryou tell it, he’d never say something like that unless he was completely sure.” Shiro’s hand followed Lance’s as he held the jacket to his chest, and glided up to cup his cheek. “I just...”

Lance stepped into his body space and leaned up, watched those moon grey eyes draw near before closing his own eyes. Shiro’s breath was warm, his hand firm and centering as their lips met softly. The moment spun out on a gossamer thread before gravity was restored.

“I’ll see you again,” Lance said. “I have to believe that.”

“Like I said.” Shiro’s smile was fragile. “You know where to find me. But um, are you sure you’re okay?”

Lance took stock of himself before answering. “I will be.” He was sure of that.

He watched Shiro leave on foot, his broad back and silver hair disappearing under street lamps into a growing pool of police officers, looky-loos, discombobulated audience members, and members of the media. He was still standing there gazing out at the night when Coran stepped over to speak to him.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Zandra is shutting Oriande down temporarily for repairs,” Coran said. “The stampede caused a fair bit of damage, you see. But fear not my boy, for once the building is restored to its former grandeur, we’ll be back, and bigger than ever. There’s nothing like coverage in a news cycle to get your business name out to the public. I’ve told Zandra and Sniv both that I want you as my famulus, and I won’t accept anyone else.” He hesitated. “That is, if you still want the job.”

“Do I ever!” Lance was sorry that this whole mess caused property damage, but he was grateful for the job offer. “But, wouldn’t you want, you know, the real Red?”

“Do you mean Keith?” When Lance nodded, Coran sighed wistfully. “Truth be told, I did ask him if he would be my apprentice back when he worked here before. The lad has natural stage presence and fast hands. He’d make an excellent illusionist. But mastery at that level requires a time commitment and Keith was not ready to agree to that. Perhaps someday.” Coran’s eyes twinkled as they refocused on Lance. “Right now, I believe there is star potential in you which deserves to shine. What say you?”

“I say yes!”

“Splendid!” Coran’s mustache quivered. “Why, I dare say you’ve taken a nip of my malört after all, put some hair on your chest didn’t it?”

“How can you tell?” Lance asked.

“I smelled it on your breath of course.” Coran looked as proud as an uncle. “Like a mother bird regurgitating licorice into her young. Such an incomparable smell. I’m honored to work with a man who knows how to handle a strong liqueur.”

Madre de Dios, Lance had kissed Shiro with bad breath. ¡Qué pena! How much weirder could tonight get? Turned out, a little bit weirder. Curtis Sparke was waiting outside by the curb to take Lance home.

“Hey, ah...” Curtis waved awkwardly. “My brother rode back with um... the others. So I decided to wait and see if you needed a lift... somewhere.”

It was damn nice of him to offer considering everything he’d witnessed over the past couple of hours. Also, if Lance didn’t get a ride he was going to be stuck taking a bus out of Port Authority in the middle of the night, so he accepted. Lance told Curtis his parents’ address. Curtis nodded and input it into his GPS. Then he turned on the radio, and the proceeding half hour was probably the most peaceful time Lance was going to spend for the next few days at least. Once Lance’s family heard about all of this he could forget about peace and quiet for a while.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Between Detective Ulaz and Wally Kreutz, Keith was released on his own recognizance relatively quickly and painlessly. Shiro offered to put him and Ryou up in his apartment. He would have offered to Ryou anyway, now that Keith was a part of the picture it was just natural to extend that invitation. He’d already offered hospitality to Red, and the fact that Red had turned out to be a different person didn’t change what Shiro would do for his brother or anyone important to his brother. Ryou whistled as he took in the apartment’s new minimalist look, but he didn’t comment. Shiro had already given him the story on that back at the bar.

“So, where do you want us?” Ryou asked.

Which mattress did Shiro want to always wonder if it contained intimate DNA that did not belong to him: the futon mattress, or the one in the alcove?

“You guys pick,” he decided.

They picked the alcove.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Lance lay under a matelassé coverlet on the double bed in his childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep. He’d shared this room with Marco as a small child, then with Rachel as a teen, before their older siblings had moved out and she’d taken over the larger second floor bedroom. After that he’d had this smaller room to himself for a few years before it was eventually his own turn to move out. Since then his mother had redecorated it to serve as a guest room, but now Lance was back. It was strange to see these familiar contours with unfamiliar furnishings, like sidestepping into an alternate universe.

His father had reacted to his late night arrival with a lot of bluster about gathering up his older siblings and going over to talk some sense into James, as if trying to talk sense into love could ever work. Lance did appreciate the solidarity, though. Mamá had calmed Papá down by reminding him that her parents were still asleep in the basement apartment, and all of his vociferating might wake them up. Then she’d made them sandwiches, which was just his mamá all over. They’d eaten at the breakfast bar and worked out a plan for the following day. Lots of one-fisted eating and texting had taken place at that breakfast bar in the wee hours of the morning.

Lance needed to collect his belongings from the house (it was James’s house now, he needed to remember that) but his family wouldn’t let him do so alone. Furthermore, it needed to be done soon, before the locks got changed and the lawyers got involved and it became a huge hassle just to get so much as a bottle of shampoo out of that door. Papá, Mamá, Luis and Marco all worked in the family business, so rearranging their schedules to help out was a balancing act but an entirely doable one. Rachel’s schedule at the salon wouldn’t work for helping move Lance’s stuff, but she would be free the day after that to accompany him to a lawyer’s office (lawyer, Lance needed a lawyer now).

Then there was Veronica. Her career as an analyst for Lockheed Martin meant she didn’t have a lot of free time to donate to the cause of helping her little brother get separated without losing his shirt. Mamá had asked her once if she was worried about work/life balance, and she'd just shrugged and said, "When your work is your life, that's not an issue." However, her position as the McClain sibling whom James was legitimately afraid of (and not without good reason, even Lance was afraid of her when she was on a tear) ensured that a brief appearance from her could prove effective out of proportion to the time committed. They were going to hold her in reserve, just in case James had second thoughts about how generous he was willing to be in the divorce, or in case Sparks tried to stick his nose in because he persisted in acting as if he were the wronged party when in fact he was the instigator. Come to think of it, Sparks was almost guaranteed to try something, and James had never been very good at reining him in. Lance finally went to sleep with a smile on his face at the thought of what could happen when Sparks finally met his most daunting sibling face to face.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Just when Shiro finally had pans to cook with, Red– no, Lance, was no longer there to impress with his mad breakfast improvising skills. Still, he had house guests, so he made a full pot of coffee and put together a quick and dirty shakshuka out of odds and ends in the fridge. Keith was overjoyed to be reunited with his stuff, and Ryou was happy because Keith was happy, so if the breakfast was a bit frankenfried, neither of them seemed to notice. They spent the morning picnicking on the floor and reminiscing about the good times, including the day they’d met, and Shiro was reminded that he actually did still have a Red in the house.

“Yeah, he told me, ‘looks like you got a little hipster in your hair, here let me fix it for you’ and then he tipped that cup upside down over my head.” Ryou laughed. “Still razzes me about it, even though I keep telling him it’s natural.”

Keith just smirked into his coffee.

“It’s true,” Shiro said. “Premature greying runs in the family. Dad had it too, got silver streaks at his temples before he was thirty.” Shiro palmed his coffee cup so he could have his hand free to gesture at his own temples. “Don’t know why I went completely silver but Ryou only went silver in the front, though.” Shiro shrugged. Personally he thought it was stress-related, but it was also possible that Keith was partially right about Ryou dying his hair, just not about which part and what color.

Ryou gave his brother a sidelong look. “You’re still worrying about Grey Poupon, aren’t you?” When Shiro offered him a flat stare, he said, “Don’t try to play the stoic hero act with me, I know what a troubled mind looks like on you.” He sipped his coffee. “Because it’s the same thing it looks like on me.”

In truth, Shiro had pulled a face because of the nickname his brother had chosen to grace upon Lance, but he wasn’t wrong. “I think he got sick after what happened last night. I mean, that guy was pretty rough with him. What if he had a concussion?”

Ryou frowned. “What makes you think he got sick? He was on his feet and talking fine after he knocked out Sendak.”

“I, uh...” Shiro licked his lips. “I kissed him.” It had been a lovely kiss, in spite of... well. “I tasted it.”

Keith cackled. “That wasn’t throw up you tasted. Lance got into Coran’s malört.”

“Oh, man.” Ryou laughed. “It takes a strong stomach to drink that stuff. He’ll be fun at parties.”

Shiro blushed. “I don’t know if he’ll want it to go anywhere, now that he remembers everything. I mean, he’s still married. What if he decides to give it one more try?”

“Then he’s a dumbass,” Keith said. “I spent almost twenty-four hours in the company of that guy’s husband, and I knew he was cheating hours before the sidepiece showed up to screech at me about how there was only room for one sidepiece, and that sidepiece was Lance. That marriage is a wash.” He caught the furrow of Shiro’s brow and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s a dumbass. So.” He tapped his fingers in a staccato beat. “Maybe you ought to make sure your voice mail isn’t full and don’t ignore any unknown numbers over the next few days.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
In the morning Mamá loaded everybody up with empanadas and café con leche, then Papá loaded everybody up in the pizzeria’s catering van. Almost everybody. Luis was following them over in his wife’s minivan. Lisa was going to be a woman of many hats at the restaurant today. Marco would have driven himself over too, but he rode a motorcycle and nobody thought freeing up one seat was going to result in such a great gain of cargo space that they should risk Mamá’s heart watching him ride around on ‘the rocket straight to the graveyard’ (Mamá’s words). Besides, if Lance’s car was there then they could use its backseat and trunk space, which was a little bigger than the space Marco was currently taking up in the van.

The drive took less than ten minutes, even in morning rush hour traffic, the two houses being only one town apart. As it happened, James had not changed the locks yet, nor was he on the premises. However, his sister was. Nadia had her laptop open on the dining room table. It seemed she was working from home today. James’s home, that is.

“It was the only way to keep Sparks from camping out here waiting for you,” Nadia said as she let the McClains in. “For the record, I’m sorry to see you go. Pity me, for now I have to deal with Sparks as an in-law. We could probably roast a turkey in the pressure cooker that Thanksgiving is going to be this year.”

Nadia gave Lance a quick hug and then got back to what she’d been doing when they arrived. Lance appreciated her candidness, but didn’t doubt she’d interfere if they tried to take anything that James held valuable. She needn’t have worried. Lance hadn’t actually picked out very many items in this house, and of those he had, he doubted James was going to miss them. They loaded up Lance’s clothes, his personal effects, his toiletries, and then they got to the furniture.

“Mijito, are you sure this is it?” Mamá asked him.

They’d packed up what amounted to one furnishing from each room of the house, with the exceptions of the kitchen, where Lance had picked out quite a bit of the cookware, dishware and cutlery, and the home office where Lance had more free reign since James had never been very interested in that room. He had a much bigger office at the dealership. Lance, remembering Shiro’s bare kitchen, took enough pity on James to leave him just enough items to reheat and serve the meals in the freezer. Sparks was probably going to want to buy all new china anyway. Even with the carefully wrapped kitchenware and the desk and chair crammed in on top of the rest of the stuff in each van, there was not going to be any need to make a second trip.

“I’m sure,” Lance said. “There’s just the car left, and that’s it.” At least, until they separated their finances. Lance had continued to work for the pizzeria on and off during the marriage, so not all of that money was James’s. Just a lot of it.

It turned out, though, that the only car in the garage was Nadia’s Jeep. “They took the Saab to the dealership this morning,” Nadia confirmed, sounding sorry to be the one tasked with relaying that information. “Sparks decided he wanted it, and James has a sentimental attachment to it.”

The car represented the last remnant of the dealership as it had been when most of what they sold was shiny and new. Lance could hardly blame James for having sentimental feelings attached to it. But damn it, that car was a gift titled in Lance’s name, and if he was going to be driving to work across the Hudson every day then he needed transportation. Something was going to have to give.

“Papá?”

“Yes mijo?”

“It’s time to call Veronica.”

“I would love to bear witness to what comes of this,” Nadia said, “but in the name of being able to look my brother in the eye later, I’m going to be staying right here.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Ryou’s bandmates showed up later that afternoon with a cargo van full of Ryou’s stuff from the Williamsburg apartment where he’d been crashing when he wasn’t hitting the road on a tour. Ryou’s name wasn’t on the lease and his ex already had another roommate lined up, so there had been no drama involved with him packing up and moving. Sometime while Shiro had been up in the projection room presenting the matinée, Shay’s grandmother had offered Ryou the family rate on a studio apartment that had gone vacant the month before, and Ryou had decided to take it. Then a couple of Keith’s friends showed up with some belongings that he’d left behind while he was couch surfing at their place, and Hunk invited them all to stay for family meal when they were done. Still no call yet from Lance. Shiro tried not to think about it too much as he helped the others move Ryou and Keith into the next stage of their lives.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
While Lance’s family took his stuff back to his parents’ house intending to temporarily store most of it in the crawl space, Lance rode over to the dealership with Veronica in her very sensible black four door hybrid sedan. As they pulled into the lot, Lance saw one of James’s sales agents perk up in the doomed hope that he was about to make out the better on a trade-in for Veronica’s cherry condition Toyota. Beyond the approaching sales agent, Lance also saw James’s head turn as he too caught sight of the sleek black car. He saw the moment James recognized that car, as his posture went stiff and he ducked out of sight into the showroom.

“Good afternoon, madam.” Marvin moved right in to help Veronica out of the driver’s side of her car. He was a nice enough guy, but not the most observant one. “What sort of car are you interested in today? We’ve just gotten in several beautiful vehicles that I’d be thrilled to show you.”

“We’re interested in my brother’s car today,” Veronica responded, declining to hand over her keys. “Think you can show us that?”

Marvin finally took notice of Lance letting himself out of the passenger’s side of Veronica's car and a fascinating transformation took over his face as he realized what was going on. “Let me go get the boss man,” he said.

“Do that,” Veronica said. She was not the biggest of alphas, nor the loudest or the most acerbic, but she had a way of owning the space she was in that could make another person’s limbic system react strongly to her presence.

Marvin took off at a run as Lance and Veronica sedately ambled toward the showroom. Just as they were coming abreast of the double glass doors, Sparks came out, pushing through both doors like a mean kid in a high school drama.

“I hate to break it to you Lance, but since I won, the spoils are all mine.” Sparks crossed his arms. “Including the car.”

“Is your name on the title?” Veronica asked, and as she did so, she kept walking forward, forcing Sparks to have to choose between giving ground or letting her get right up in his face.

Sparks stopped where he stood and wound up with Veronica inches from his face. “No, but it will be soon.”

“Only if the current owner is willing to sign it away,” Veronica said. “Otherwise, what you’re describing is theft.”

“James said– !”

“It doesn’t matter what James said since he isn’t the titleholder.”

While Veronica kept Sparks locked in verbal battle (which she was winning) Lance slipped away inside the showroom. They’d worked out their strategy in the car ride over. Since James considered Veronica to be the greater threat, so would Sparks, who would view it as his job to keep her contained. That would leave Lance free to go talk to James alone. He veered off into the hallway where the agents and managers kept their offices, and nobody stopped him. He walked right up to James’s office and let himself in.

James was behind his wide desk flipping through folders. “Hey Sparks, did you get rid of her? That was fast.”

“No,” Lance said, closing the door behind him.

“Lance.” James swallowed. “Is your sister still on the premises?”

Lance nodded slowly, deliberately. “Yes.”

“Listen, it’s not just that he wants the car.” James waved for Lance to take the visitor’s seat across the desk from him. “That car means a lot to me, you know? It meant a lot when I gave it to you.”

“I know.” Lance remained standing. “And for that reason alone, I’m willing to talk a trade.”

“Trade?” James blinked up at him. “You mean, for a different car? I don’t know if where you’re working right now is going to qualify you for financing on a trade-in.”

Lance leaned over James’s desk. “Then make it an even trade. As the business owner here, that is something you’re perfectly capable of doing.”

About an hour later Lance walked out of the dealership as the newest owner of a red Nissan Maxima with 60k miles on it. The car still had the detailing checklist sitting on the dashboard, showing the work which had been done on it after trade-in. James probably hadn’t had it on his lot for more than two days. Veronica followed Lance protectively all the way to the mechanic their family had been using for years. Rocky looked the car over and reassured him that James hadn’t sold him a lemon. He confirmed Lance’s suspicion that the car wasn’t worth quite as much on paper as the Saab was, but Lance owned the title free and clear without having to go to court to get it, and that was worth plenty to him.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
The prodigal son was home and Hunk put out a spread. Garretts, Shiroganes, Balmeras, Holts, Cosmic Cadets and one Kogane all grabbed their share of the barbecue dinner and took it into the employee breakroom to eat together. Shiro laughed as Ryou’s band talked over each other telling a story about a birthday gig where they had to share the stage with the guest of honor who turned out to be a terrible singer. Larmina, the keyboardist, had tried to use live auto-tune to save everybody's ears and the singer's dignity, and accidentally turned the poor guy’s voice from terrible to terrifying. While the other Cosmic Cadets cheerfully roasted her over it, Shiro’s cell phone alerted him to a text message from a number he didn’t recognize, a 551 area code. He thumbed it open to read the full message.

_Phone is cracked & service mite get cancel soon but just want 2 let u kno I was thinkin of u_. There was a short pause, then, _this is Lance btw_.

Shiro grinned in relief and texted back. _Hi Lance :) glad to hear from u_. He went ahead and saved the phone number, even though he knew Lance might not have it much longer.

“Aww, is it Grey Poupon?” Ryou tried to read over Shiro’s shoulder. “Tell him I said hey.”

Shiro turned sideways in an effort to shield his phone from his brother’s prying eyes as he texted, _Ryou says hey too_.

_Did he call me gray poop on? Tel him my name Lance McClain but he can call me McClain_. There was a brief pause. _¡comemierda autocorrect!_

There were more people chortling while trying to read over Shiro’s shoulder now. Some of them read the message out loud, the fricking heathens. Shiro was not smiling over such a cheap joke. Damn it, yes he was. Ryou was over the moon that his little impromptu nickname had borne such unexpected fruit. Across the table, Hunk asked, “Is he any relation to the pizzeria McClains?”

Shiro texted, _ur family make pizzas?_

Hunk was saying, “That place makes the best garlic knots I’ve ever put in my mouth,” right as Lance was confirming pretty much the same thing via text. Ryou said, “You might want to snap him up for the Grille,” and Hunk said, “If he can make that recipe, I just might.”

Shiro just smiled and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure he’s still aiming to go into show biz.”

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Drule, Rebel and Associates had law offices on the second floor of a prewar building near Miller Park. “They’ll go above and beyond for you, hermanito,” Rachel had told him. “My roommate used them and they got her everything she asked for.” Lance’s initial consultation was with a junior associate named Dorma Sirk, an attractive brunette beta who ushered him and Rachel past the French doors that separated the reception area from the offices, and then invited them to sit across from her in a small conference room.

“Just to get it out of the way, I’m obliged to ask.” Dorma put her hands on the desk. “Are you certain that divorce is the path you wish to take? Trial separation is an option that is less costly in both legal fees and the ability to reverse action. You might want to consider that first if you need time to think it over.”

“I’m sure,” Lance said. “My husband is involved with someone else, it’s not a casual affair, and that person is going to push him for a divorce. I need to get ahead of that action if I want to come out of it with a fair resolution.”

“I see, so adultery is involved.” Dorma gathered a legal pad and pen and started taking notes. “That does clarify the legal grounds. I’m sorry to hear this has happened to you, but on behalf of my firm, we’re prepared to secure you a judgment with the fairest equitable distribution of your marital assets possible.”

Dorma then proceeded to ask more questions to get a better sense of what Lance wanted and where his combined finances with James stood. When she learned that he hadn’t signed a prenuptial agreement, she couldn’t quite hide the pleased waft of powdery scent that news produced. Lance wasn’t after revenge, though. He just wanted a fair shake, and since Sparks had already tried to steal his car just the day before, he didn’t trust him not to try something else underhanded as the weeks in which he was legally prohibited from changing his last name to Griffin dragged on. But as the interview continued, Lance began to feel more and more confident that his sister had steered him toward a capable legal advocate. In less than time than it had taken to plan his wedding (much less if he should be lucky enough for James to agree to the first settlement offer) Lance’s life and future would be fully his own again, for better or for worse.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
“After some deliberation...” The functionary, a tall grey-haired man in tiny glasses named Sablan, trailed off as if he couldn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. “After some deliberation, we’ve decided to split the reward between the two of you. Regardless of how it came to pass, the fact remains that you did prevent the artifacts from being fenced by an accomplished pair of thieves.”

Beside Lance, Keith visibly bristled at the implication that he was not accomplished.

“Since that would have resulted in the artifacts being lost to us for quite possibly decades,” Sablan droned on, “we feel it is appropriate to bestow the finder’s award upon you both. Split,” he added, unnecessarily because they got that part the first time.

Flash bulbs popped as Sablan handed Lance and Keith each a check from the city for eight hundred dollars. Lance and Keith were then treated to some pretty decent coffee and cookies in a stately reception room while they answered questions from several different reporters doing fluff pieces for area newspapers. This was not the end of it; eventually they’d be called upon to testify against Yurak Sendak when his criminal case went to trial, and they’d probably be interviewed again, by reporters with a much less fluffy angle to their stories. People had already been calling Lance’s parents’ house with offers to buy the rights to his part of the story. Unsure of how to handle such a request, he’d called his lawyer and received a referral for a colleague of hers who specialized in intellectual property law. In their meeting, Hazar had stressed to Lance that he should ensure that whoever purchased the rights was contractually obligated to portray him with decency, because even though it could significantly lower the dollar amount of the final contract, it was worth far more in the end.

As for the check from City Hall, Lance intended to use it mostly on paying his parents back for covering his car insurance and helping him establish new phone service after he’d replaced his cracked iPhone. Sparks hadn’t managed to cancel the AppleCare in time to prevent Lance from making a claim. That’s not to say that Lance was completely broke before the museum had offered this windfall in exchange for a little PR. His parents could always use an extra hand during busy shifts, and his sister-in-law could always use a babysitter, so Lance was working for them part-time while waiting for word that Oriande was ready to reopen. He’d had enough cash to run a little errand on the way over to City Hall, and he could afford the gas to offer Keith a ride home.

“So, you working?” Keith asked as they curved northward on 6th Avenue. “Because Hunk can always use some help in the kitchen. Just, you know, until Oriande is back in business.”

That was sweet of him to awkwardly offer, even though Lance got the feeling there was more to it than Keith was saying.

“I’m actually working swing shift at my parents’ place right now,” Lance said. The restaurant business was in his blood and probably always would be. He kind of had a feeling he’d return to it eventually, in some form or another, but he wanted to try something new for at least a little while, and see who else he could be. “They can always use someone working the phone, if you need a gig.”

He didn’t think Keith was even remotely interested in the kind of daily commute that would involve, but he’d be remiss if he didn’t offer. Keith exuded the kind of confidence that could end a problem customer’s tirade or put a prank caller in their place with just a few well-chosen words.

“That’s alright.” Keith shot a grin Lance’s way. “My instagram has blown up since this happened. Also, I’ve been helping Hunk with deliveries, just as something to do while I figure out my next move. I like riding the moped and I’ve gotten some good candids out of it. It’s fine for now.”

Lance smiled back, wondering if he should hint to Coran that he should try out his pitch again, since it looked like Keith might be sticking around for the next while. Oriande seemed like a good location to set up some interesting pictures, if nothing else. Lance thought back on that wild ride with Shiro, and everything that came after. That moped ride was truly an experience to remember. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last one they shared.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Shiro went down to the Grille’s kitchen looking forward to sharing family meal before the evening show. Horror movies were always a good draw for the theater, but not all of them stood up well to repeat viewing. He was primed for some chow and good company. Only instead of a plate, Hunk handed him a bag of takeout. “I think you should take this up to your place, Shiro.” Something was up, but Hunk had too good of a poker face to give Shiro any clues.

“Here, take this too.” Keith handed Shiro a 24 ounce bottle of cherry cola. He was ready for a delivery shift in one of the grey polo shirts the Grille’s employees used as a uniform, but he was wearing it over a red undershirt, reminding Shiro that while Ryou didn’t have to share Keith with other lovers these days, he still had to share him with his instagram followers. Well, Ryou wasn’t a jealous guy, so there was zero chance of him feeling sidelined on account of that. Those two were proof that even the earthiest of hardheaded people could fall in love and make it work.

“Good call,” said Ryou, who strolled up munching on a burger as if their mother hadn’t taught them both that walking and eating at the same time was unmannerly. “Maybe he should also put some– ”

“Don’t.” Keith reached up and put his hand over Ryou’s chewing mouth.

“Okay, be all mysterious.” Shiro hefted his dinner in one hand and the drink in the other. “I’ll be upstairs until it’s time to set up for the second show.”

“If you need a night off, just call me,” said Ryou after pulling Keith’s hand off of his mouth.

Shiro thanked Ryou for the offer (that he didn’t see why he’d need to take up) as he retreated through a passcoded door to the entry hall used solely by the tenants of the apartments upstairs. He took the winder stairs up to the fifth floor and walked down the narrow hallway to his corner apartment, passing his new neighbor’s closed front door as he went. Shiro was probably going to have to invest in soundproofing material for that shared wall. He loved his brother and was glad to have him around, but he and Keith got loud when they got down to it. Juggling his to-go bag and drink in one arm, he unlocked the door to his own place and caught an unexpected whiff of a familiar omega upon opening the door. He rounded the small foyer as Lance came around the corner from the kitchenette.

“Hi.” He was smiling. That was probably a good sign. “Keith and Ryou let me in.” Of course they did, and then didn’t say anything about it. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to make good on my promise.”

“I don’t mind.” Shiro stepped closer, breathing him in. “What promise?”

“When I said I’d help fill your pantry.” Lance took the food and drink out of Shiro’s hands and led him into the kitchenette. “If I got anything you don’t like, just let me know, I’ll get it swapped out for you.”

“Lance, you didn’t really have to do that.” Shiro followed Lance over to the counter, where he set the food down beside another bag that he was still in the process of unloading.

“I know, but I wanted to.” Lance smiled again over his shoulder as he continued putting away canned soup, boxed pasta and bottled cooking oil. He had on that lion jacket again, over jeans and a button down shirt, and he looked great, with no sign of that confused state of mind which had previously hovered over him like an invisible weight. He had on Keith’s old shoes, and Shiro remembered that he still had Lance’s, tucked on a shelf in the alcove.

“I could fix those shoes, if you’re still interested.” Shiro opened the to-go bag. “Hey, do you want to stay for dinner? It looks like Hunk packed enough here for two.”

The to-go bag contained enough food for two orders of burgers and fries, with the lettuce and tomatoes packed separately so that the vegetables would stay cold and crisp. Lance accepted both of Shiro’s offers, so he took off the shoes and Shiro got out his rubber cement to cure the soles back together. Lance also took off his socks, walking around barefoot on Shiro’s hardwood floors, and it was ridiculously appealing to Shiro’s inner alpha. He considered reminding Lance that his own actual shoes in almost new condition were still in his bedroom alcove. It would have been even more appealing to see him sitting down on his bed to put the shoes on, but maybe too tempting, and so he decided to wait. Patience would help them choose the right time.

Shiro put a towel on the floor in order that the two of them could make a picnic of it, which would probably be his go-to method of dining until he could find a few extra hours in the day to go thrifting for a table and chairs. They drank the cherry cola out of cartoon cat mugs as they chatted about everything and nothing, while Hiroshi experimented with funk samples next door. Jaga came in to get her victuals and then lean hopefully on each of their backs in turn with optimism that her cuteness would win her a nibble of beef. Her hopes were rewarded as Lance told Shiro about his family who ran a popular pizzeria on the other side of the river in New Jersey. Shiro listened as Lance had done for him.

“I found out both my mother's parents got divorced from other people before they married each other,” Lance said. “My abuela even got divorced twice. She said she was too young the first time, and he was too young the second, but she doesn’t feel that either of those marriages were a waste of her time.”

“Nobody who means anything to you is ever truly a waste of time,” Shiro said softly.

Lance’s smile was like sunlight peeking through a cloud. “I completely agree.” He looked off to the side. “Listen, I know that I’m just coming out of a relationship, and so are you, but...” He glanced back to meet Shiro’s eyes. “I still want to try. If you do.”

Shiro nodded. Some brilliant feeling began to grow in his chest. “We can take it as slow as you want.”

“Okay," Lance said, "and right back at you.” Then he leaned in, and Shiro leaned back, and this time when their lips met, there was not even the slightest hint of the taste of malört. Only the sweetness of the cherry cola, and maybe more: the promise of a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who gave this fic a chance. I don't anticipate this one becoming a 'verse, it was more of a mood that I wanted to express and which helped me keep my anxiety under control.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm not making any money off this. I'm just having fun.


End file.
